


Cloistered

by HPFandom_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Drama, Explicit Language, F/M, First Time, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Slash sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-17
Updated: 2008-11-06
Packaged: 2018-09-30 22:31:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10173869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HPFandom_archivist/pseuds/HPFandom_archivist
Summary: During fifth year, Harry is stunned to discover that in a previous life he was a novice in a monastery. And that Snape was there with him…  (Translated by RaeWhit.)





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [HP Fandom](http://fanlore.org/wiki/HP_Fandom_\(archive\)), which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [HP Fandom collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hpfandom/profile).

This story has been translated from the original French by RaeWhit, and uploaded with the author's permission. The author is fluent in English and will respond to her own reviews.

A/N: It's been a long time since I've written Snarry—hopefully I've not forgotten how. As I'm not particularly fond of Book Seven, I'm writing an AU story. Ever since I was a teenager, I've been fascinated by "The Name of the Rose" universe and the Cadfael series. I wanted to incorporate these into a Snarry.

Disclaimer: The characters belong to J.K.R., even those she so cowardly assassinated…. *weeps*

Translator's Note: This story is unique; it's a combination AU/AR, having its beginning and ending in Harry's fifth year, and the bulk of the story taking place in a cloister in the Middle Ages. If you're wondering if this 'works', consider the scene that finally sold me: Harry making his confession to Brother Snape. Talk about your medieval UST; I guess there really isn't anything new under the sun. It's well-written and plotty, incorporates appearances of most of the major canon characters we know and love (and hate).

* * *

**__**

Cloistered

****

Chapter One

In the Great Hall, Harry was eating his porridge with a marked lack of enthusiasm. He was still half-asleep, he was painfully aware of not having finished his homework, and to top it all off, he was less than thrilled at the prospect of his first class of the day—Divination. Come to think of it, the word 'class' was really a stretch. What was there to learn? Except that Sybill Trelawney was an ass….

One day when he'd voiced this thought aloud, Hermione had stiffly said, "A class where you're not learning anything—nothing out of the ordinary for you."

With the stress of the upcoming OWLs, Hermione was becoming a pain. It was fortunate that Ron was around, as he showed the same boredom in the face of accumulating homework, tests, and the whole kit and caboodle. To a certain extent, it was comforting to know all his friends were in the same boat; it gave him a warm fuzzy feeling—belonging to a group that shared a common bond.

Harry's inane daydream was cut short by Ron nudging him with an elbow.

"Eyes open! Time to go!"

Harry answered with a groan, but then stood and fell in behind his friends.

Fifth year Gryffindors, all of them on their way to the North Tower. Only Hermione, who'd opted for a different class, went off in another direction. Harry wondered if he shouldn't have chosen Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, pulling weeds, whatever, anything but Divination….

Resigned, the little group walked along slowly, up the steps to the top of the tower, then climbed the ladder into the attic loft and lair of their fantastical professor. Only Lavender and Parvati wore happy faces. They were as crazy as Trelawney, Harry thought to himself. 

His gloominess was as much because Trelawney was obsessed with predicting his horrible future as it was because she gave him bad marks, considering his lack of talent for the subject matter.

The Gryffindors sat, or rather collapsed into their chairs without bothering to unpack a thing. Besides, there was nothing to write, and their wands weren't needed. Harry noticed that the cups, which the students used to read tea leaves, were gone from the tables.

"There's a spot of luck!" Ron exclaimed as he noticed this too. "At least we'll not be doing that rubbish."

Lavender professed energetically, "It's not rubbish. You can really read the future in tea leaves!"

"Come off it, Lavender," Dean said calmly, "your tea leaves said you were going to marry Prince William."

"So?"

Dean shrugged, and Lavender, vexed, began to sulk.

Parvati soothed her. "Ignore the berk. All he can see in his tea is that it's decaf—"

Just as the quarrel threatened to become a fistfight, Sybill Trelawney made her entrance, gliding dramatically across the room. She seemed particularly elated, which could only be bad news for Harry. When she claimed to have had a vision of the future, it was always an apocalyptic one with bodies strewn everywhere. Since Voldemort's return, Harry shuddered at the thought that for once, these visions might just turn out to be true.

But the professor seemed to have happier thoughts today; she was actually in a positive mood for once.

"We've already studied various methods of divining the future," she reminded them cheerfully. "The future is the greatest mystery of all, but it will be fruitless to foresee it if you do not first reconcile yourself to your past."

The students glanced at each other, surprised.

"What's she on about now?" Ron muttered through his teeth.

Trelawney continued her speech, eyes ceiling-ward, as if she'd forgotten she had an audience. "The past holds many secrets. It can teach you much about yourself, and lead you to knowledge of your destiny…."

Seamus yawned.

"For now, we are not going to dispel the darkness of the future, but we will look deeply into…your previous lives." She began to chuckle with excitement as the Gryffindors looked on dully.

Their previous lives. Nothing would save them now. 

Only the Trelawney Fan Club squeaked enthusiastically. Lavender exclaimed, "Oh, this is wonderful! I've always wanted to try and see what was there before. My mother believes in reincarnation as well."

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but when Lavender shot him a withering look, he reconsidered and didn't make a sound.

Trelawney directed the students to leave their cushions and stretch out on the floor, arms at their sides, palms upward, and then to close their eyes. An enchanting melody arose in the room, slowly chiming out its notes.

Harry relaxed. He was happy with the turn this class was taking. With a bit of luck, he'd fall asleep and only awaken at the end.

He was vaguely aware that the professor was speaking an incantation, but the words were unclear. His eyelids were heavy, his head spun around a bit, and his throat was dry. He wanted to ask Ron if he felt strange as well, but he soon lost the thread of that thought. He felt as if he were slowly being sucked into a black hole.

The first thing of which he became aware was the ringing of a bell. But it wasn't the one that rang at the end of class. This sound was much more solemn, like a church bell being rung. 

Harry opened his eyes and staggered with astonishment. He was, indeed, in the middle of a church.

He turned and looked all around him, and found that he was standing in a row of young people, all of them clothed in long black robes. It was apparently a mass; a murmuring rose up from the entire assembly.

But then Harry felt ridiculous. Why would he dream (and he _was_ dreaming, without a shadow of a doubt) of a mass? He hadn't set foot in a church since Dudley's first communion several years ago. Dudley had taken catechism, not him—a waste of time for someone with as little intelligence as him, according to Uncle Vernon. And anyway, degenerates like himself were by definition heretics. Harry'd never grasped the sense of that word; he only knew that the Dursleys were proud of being Anglicans, proof of belonging to the noble nation of Britain.

Harry thought he should be dreaming of a mystical gathering of wizards, men who addressed Merlin in their incantations. That would make much more sense.

Then his gaze settled on the other members of the assembly, all of them men; most of them were balding at the top of their heads. Harry'd seen Robin Hood and Friar Tuck's monastic haircut. He realized that the robes worn by these men weren't wizarding ones; instead they were monks' habits.

He was standing in the middle of an assembly of monks.

Harry almost cried out, but he remembered that he was in Divination class, lying on the floor. This could only be a dream, he repeated to himself stubbornly. _This has to be a dream_.

Still, it was an incredibly realistic dream. Harry heard the voices, he shivered from the chill that pervaded the choir, and he could even feel the rough fabric against his skin. He himself was also wearing a monk's robe; he was one of them!

And what was even stranger still, he recognized some of the men around him. The one leading the mass was the spitting image of Albus Dumbledore. And beside him, an exact copy of Lucius Malfoy proudly lifted his chin, instead of lowering his eyes in the customary posture of one who prays. Harry turned halfway to his right, and was stopped in his tracks by the red hair of the boy next to him—Ron Weasley.

This time, it was definite: Voldemort's persecution of him had made Harry lose his mind, and his madness was manifesting itself when he was asleep. He shook his head; he didn't like this dream. Closing his eyes, he counted to five, then opened them again.

He'd definitely moved to a new place, but it still wasn't the classroom. This looked like the Great Hall at mealtime, except there weren't any students; the occupants were still wearing their monastic habits. Harry took a look to make sure he was sitting next to Ron. There were other faces that seemed just as familiar, but he was so confused that he couldn't remember their names anymore.

The monks ate in silence. A single voice could be heard; it came from a man standing in the center of the room as he read aloud from a book.

"It is the master who speaks and teaches. The disciple is silent and listens. This is what is right for the one and the other."

Harry, still struck dumb and in a stupor, turned to his neighbor. "Ron, what…?"

"Shhhh!" Ron quickly hissed. "You're risking a penance. Tell me afterwards."

Ron hadn't lifted his nose from his plate, and only his lips had moved. Oddly enough, his stature was more impressive than usual, as if he'd grown during the night. Harry was disoriented and glanced around. The mixing of the familiar with the unfamiliar was downright disturbing; he was cold and he was lost. The light was low, cloaking him in sinister shadows. He wanted to wake up; he fought inwardly with all his might.

He startled violently when a hand, sharp as an eagle's talon, took hold of his shoulder.

"Stop your daydreaming. Build up your strength while you have food in front of you, because you can count on me to burden you with work."

That voice! Recognizable above all others, it made his eyes widen with surprise and distrust.

Snape. Snape was here!

Harry turned around, but the dark figure was walking away, and he could only see his back, stiff and straight in the black robes.

If Snape was here, Dumbledore too, Ron as well, why wasn't this Hogwarts? 

Harry rubbed his eyes, then his cheek without thinking. He was stunned to feel the rough beginnings of a beard on his face. How could this be? He was only fifteen! He'd been perfectly clean-shaven the last time he'd checked. He looked at his shaking hand—he didn't recognize it either. It was larger and less delicate. How old was he? He still felt young, but in this dream, he wasn't a teenager anymore.

Was it a dream?

Harry looked up and connected with the sharp eyes of Lucius Malfoy staring at him. There could be no mistake, as he'd seen him close up when Voldemort had taken his blood in the graveyard. Malfoy's light eyes bored into him piercingly; Harry bristled in annoyance and quickly looked down. 

This time, he'd had enough—Harry pinched himself.

No change. 

He did it again. In vain.

How horrible! He was a prisoner in this absurd and disturbing world. At the very moment when he was ready to do _anything_ to make this nightmare stop—to stand up and scream and challenge Lucius Malfoy to a duel—he felt the ground beneath him fall away as he was once again pulled into a yawning black hole….

***

A strong hand was shaking his shoulder.

"Harry! Harry!"

He opened his eyes. Ron—the Ron he knew—seemed amused.

"Don't worry—you’re not the only one who fell asleep. I think most of the class is dozing. But we're almost done here, so you _have-to-wake-up!_ "

Harry blinked his eyes several times. "We're not monks anymore?"

"Huh?"

"Nothing. Forget it."

Harry was calm again, and got up, brushing off his robes—wizarding ones, he verified with a glance.

Sybill Trelawney was going from student to student, pulling them from their astral journeys to previous lives, or so she believed. Actually, to see the Gryffindors stretch and yawn, it seemed that most of them had benefited from this extension of their night's sleep.

Harry, though, was still feeling disoriented, more so than at the end of a simple nightmare. And yet, he'd had his fill of night terrors since the Triwizard Tournament the year before. But this one had been so real, as if he'd actually lived the experience.

"Well?" Trelawney asked, eager to hear the practical results. "Did you catch a glimpse of your previous lives?"

Many of the students just sat and watched, laughing up their sleeves.

Inspired, Parvati gushed, "I think I lived near the Artic Circle; I felt cold…"

"She was actually lying in a draft," Seamus mocked.

There was the sound of stifled laughter. Trelawney didn't take notice—had she even heard them?—and congratulated Parvati for having opened her mind to the divining inspiration.

Class over, the students raced down the stairs, exchanging ironic comments about their eccentric professor's latest whim. Harry didn't join in the chorus—he was still thoughtful and uneasy. He'd lived through a weird experience—no sense in lying about it. He'd _not_ fallen asleep; he'd lapsed into an hypnotic trance. He hadn't dreamed; he'd seen…his previous life?

He would've been a monk, then. What an odd idea! One thing of which he was certain was that he had no calling to lead a cloistered life.

Unless he'd not had a choice.

***

Harry spent the following days trying to shake off a sense of uneasiness. He had enough problems—he didn't need to add any more.

Voldemort was sending him disturbing visions through his scar, Dolores Umbridge was making it her mission to make his life miserable, and he had to take Occlumency lessons from Snape—lessons which were simply horrific.

The week was atrocious, yet it passed much too quickly for Harry. He'd absolutely no desire to show up for Divination. He could only hope that Trelawney wouldn't go on about their previous lives, and would've found another gimmick, like life lines or chicken entrails. 

He hoped in vain, of course.

As soon as the Gryffindors arrived in the tower, Trelawney had them lie down again. The students didn't even try to hide their glee.

"Time for another nap," Ron laughed.

Harry shot him a forced smile. He stretched out and made an admirable attempt to stay awake.

But the shrill music began again, and in spite of his efforts, Harry could feel himself slipping away. He struggled, but it was useless.

Once again, he was submerged in darkness.

 

TBC: (Next: the great plunge into the Middle Ages)


	2. Chapter Two

****

Chapter Two

Harry had a painful cramp in his hand from pressing on the parchment. He set down the quill to rub at his palm. He liked to read and work with the manuscripts, but to have to do lines to improve his handwriting exasperated him. He wondered how the copyists kept from becoming discouraged with the repetitive aspect of their work, and how they handled cramps in their hands and deteriorating eyesight over the years.

"It's time. Novices, follow me," said a melodious yet stern voice.

Harry repressed a shudder as he stood. The voice of Brother Severus, the Novice Master, had had a strange effect on him for several months now. It wasn't fear, as it'd been at the beginning; no, it was a much gentler sensation. And yet, he'd known the man since he'd entered the monastery when he'd been only eleven, and had soon after come to dislike him. The Novice Master was curt, unpleasant and sarcastic. But since Harry'd reached his eighteenth birthday, he saw the man differently. He found him more fascinating than frightening; he was intrigued by his complex personality, and appreciated his quick wit. Few men here possessed such charisma.

Brother Severus seemed to enjoy the time he spent in the library, where he monitored the novices under his supervision. He leafed through the manuscripts on nature, seeming to devour them as he rapidly read, turning pages with nimble fingers. There was a superb golden chalice on a pedestal in the library, a priceless gift from a king, which everyone admired; Severus never even spared it a glance.

With apparent regret, he led the novices into the courtyard. In front of them, a path bordered by trees led to the monastery chapel. The bathhouse and hospital stood off to the left, backed against the outer wall. The cloister garden separated the church from the library and the conventional building where the monks slept. On the right, beyond a large esplanade, there were buildings used for agriculture, cowsheds, stables and granaries. The layout of St. Gal Monastery, so perfect (it was said) that only a saint could've designed it, had been precisely imitated here: the monastery doors opened to the west, and the church's altar was turned to the east, allowing the Christians to pray towards Jerusalem. The most famous abbeys in Europe were no better laid out than this one.

The Novice Master took the young monks outside the outer wall to cultivate the fields surrounding the abbey. The novices, who'd not yet taken their permanent vows, didn't work at the 'nobler' tasks of spreading the gospel. Outside of a few hours each morning, they didn't have access to the scriptorium. Harry burned with desire to spend much more time with the books. He had a certain talent for drawing, and he wanted to illuminate the manuscripts. For now, he had to content himself with manual labor.

Harry picked up his spade with a sigh. He was supposed to turn over a good portion of the kitchen garden, which didn't agree with him at all. His body was slight and fragile, poorly suited to this type of activity. Some of his peers made fun of him because of this, just as they teased him about the lightning-shaped scar on his forehead. Fortunately, he had a few friends, mostly among the novices who, like himself, had been left at the abbey years ago by their families.

Severus had wandered away to take a look at the plants in his private garden. He was an expert in herbology, and even though he didn't serve as the abbey healer, he often helped the herbology brother with his formulations. Ron took advantage of Severus' absence to talk to Harry.

"I went over the wall again last night," he murmured.

"Ron!" Harry said reproachfully. "If you get caught, you'll get a heavy penance."

At stake—and at the discretion of the Prior—were the dungeons, the whip, public humiliation, not to mention temporary banishment to the county leper's hospital (a possibility that made all the monks shudder in horror). And knowing Prior Lucius, it might be all four punishments, one right after the other. He was notoriously sadistic….

Ron shrugged with bravado. "I'll take the risk. Seeing Hermione is worth the trouble."

"All that to talk to the girl about the village shopkeepers…."

The abbey conducted a children's school under the kind-hearted direction of Brother Filius. Ron had just happened to make Hermione's acquaintance when she brought her younger brother to reading lessons. Since then, he'd not been able to get the young woman out of his head.

"She's very intelligent," Ron enthused. "She's educated, she knows how to read and write, and she's beautiful! Besides, we do other things than just talk...."

_He's bragging_ , Harry thought. He himself was sensitive to masculine beauty and didn't find his friend attractive at all. He preferred them tall, dark, mysterious and reserved. Sure, Ron had a pleasant, unguarded face, but…

Ron pulled him from his thoughts as he continued to chatter about Hermione. Eyes bright, he waxed eloquent about her attributes, real and imagined. He seemed seriously smitten, and nothing good would come of it. To constantly dream of a feminine creature spelled trouble when one was devoted to monastic life, but to slip over the walls on the sly to meet her came close to sheer madness.

"Ron, it's too much of a risk for a pastime."

"It's much more than a pastime for me! I'm in love. Don't look at me like that. After all… they talk to us about love all day long here.

"The love of God, and for one another, Ron! The love of a woman is completely different, don't tell me you haven't noticed that."

Ron snorted scornfully. "Evidently. It'd be less of a problem if I were looking for the love of a man. I'd have the attention and approval of almost everyone."

He was entirely correct on that account. There were those who profited from their cloistered existence in the midst of their peers by indulging their illicit appetites. Novices were often harassed by older monks; Harry knew this well. Most of the abbots turned a blind eye to it. This was not, however, the case with Father Albus. He provided Harry with a benevolent protection. Naturally, he couldn’t prevent the presence of corruption; he was not the one who chose his monks.

Ron and Harry continued to talk, their voices lowered. Severus still had not returned, so the novices relaxed. Harry, who handled his tool awkwardly, felt a sudden pain in his shoulder. He set down his spade and walked a ways to sit off to the side. Slipping his robe halfway down his arm, he began to massage the strained muscle.

"So, this is how you work?"

Harry turned as he hid a scowl. As usual, Severus had turned up at the worst possible moment.

"I hurt myself, Master."

As Novice Master, Severus had earned this reverential title. It'd take more than this to appease him, though, especially from Harry whom he seemed to particularly dislike.

"You mean to say, rather, that the slightest excuse is reason enough for you to abandon your work, and leave it all to your brothers."

"That's not true!" Harry protested indignantly.

"Well, then. As always, you think the rules do not apply to you. You think that manual labor is beneath you."

"Not at all! Only that I'm not suited to it."

"Your pride knows no bounds. You need to learn humility, and I swear you will learn it. You will come to confession tonight, and I will assign you your penance."

Harry tamped down his inner rebellion at such an injustice. The Novice Master was always difficut with him. He was certainly strict with everyone, but he seemed to take especial pleasure in tormenting Harry, as if he held something specific against him. And it was this observation that put a lump in Harry's throat.

Severus' eyes came to rest on his bared shoulder. "Put your robes in order!"

Then he turned on heel and left. Harry reluctantly picked up his spade and began to work again.

***

Fortunately, there was a great deal of praying. The Offices ordered the day and interrupted the work, to the great relief of those relegated to manual labor. 

Harry cast an envious glance at the monks who were copyists and illuminators. They represented the elite of the monastery, a vehicle of the Savior, and as such, they had special privileges. Their lives were worth more—and in this turbulent century, few lives had any worth at all.

Harry was in a position to know this very well: his parents had been murdered. It was a great misfortune, but these things happened. No one could do anything about it; it was the will of God, which no one could question. When Harry brought it up, he always received the same advice: to draw strength from his faith.

From his pew, he looked up to the sculptured stones of the nave. The figures there were terrifying, grimacing and ugly. As he lifted his eyes toward heaven and He who reigned there, he was caught by the stern yet comforting view of paradise. For Harry, though, this was just as terrifying in its own way. He knew himself too imperfect for the cold perfection of the Kingdom.

After the Office, Harry headed for the back of the church and stood in front of Severus, who watched him coldly as he approached. It was time for confession. Without waiting for an order, Harry knelt and assumed a prayerful position. Severus remained seated on his bench.

"Your attitude betrays your lack of sincerity," Severus observed.

He never called him by name; he never said, "Brother Harry," as if it would be an impossible thing for him to utter.

"Bless me, my brother, for I have sinned," Harry began mechanically.

"Confession consists not only of soothing your conscience. It's a matter of determining to not make the same mistakes again."

"As if that's possible," Harry replied bitterly. "So, you—you don’t make mistakes?"

"Spare me your insolence. I've already told you that pride is a great sin. If you fail to control it, it will one day lead to some foolishness that will be your ruin."

Father Albus sometimes said such things in his sermons, when he stressed that humility was essential to all men, but he had never looked so scornful.

Harry stiffened. "I don't have any more pride than anyone else! I'd like to be able to use my abilities, instead of wasting my time and strength on work that doesn't suit me."

"By cultivating the land, you are useful to your entire community. Your drawings only serve to flatter your ego."

"My drawings will illustrate books that will pass knowledge on through the ages! Nothing is more useful than that!" Harry said with fervor. 

"You truly believe that knowledge is so important?" Severus asked neutrally, but his lips were slightly twisted in an amused smile.

"Knowledge is the only thing that raises man above the beasts. Without it, we only breathe, and eat, and sleep, like all the lower creatures. There's nothing more important than preserving and passing along the truth of the Savior; it's He who makes humanity able to progress."

"You spend too much time with Albus. He's infecting you with his illusions."

Severus now seemed full of bitterness, Harry noted, as if he, too, had had illusions that had ended up lost. Harry studied him curiously, wondering what his life had been like. He didn't know anything about him. How old could he be—thirty-five or forty?

"Father Albus gives us so much hope," Harry said passionately. "He's certain that we can be happy by fulfilling our destiny and serving God."

"If you're searching for happiness in your life, you're going to be unhappy, I guarantee it," Severus replied intensely. "You'd do better to seek to be useful, to devote yourself, and make your salvation!"

_Make your salvation_. 

In other words, to make sure of heaven by his faith and good works; that was a bit abstract when one was just eighteen. It was surely a more urgent matter for Severus.

"I've been unhappy all my life!" Harry cried, his eyes flashing. "My parents were killed! I was raised by an uncle and aunt who hated me. Since they didn't want me, they gave me to the monastery. And yet, I've not the least desire to make a life here."

Severus looked at him impassively. "It's an opportunity you've been handed! You're spared misery, you've found a community that welcomes you as a brother, and here you can exercise this gift of drawing that God has given you. You know this all very well, evidenced by the fact that you've not run off. So stop crying over your fate, and make the best of your life."

He made the sign of the cross in front of the boy's face as he murmured, " _Ego te absolve a peccatis tuis_." 

Harry lowered his eyes, holding back the turbulent feelings that simmered inside of him, remembering to say, " _Amen_ ," at the end of the traditional pronouncement of absolution. Severus stood and made his way slowly up the aisle. He turned back to the still-kneeling novice.

"You're not the only one who did not choose a monastic habit. Nor the only one to have suffered from it. Quiet your rebellion and be happy, nevertheless."

He disappeared, and Harry blinked, a bit surprised. It was the very first time that Severus had let slip a personal remark, and had granted a novice absolution so easily, not even requiring him to recite prayers until nightfall.

Harry shifted his weight to one knee, then stood up awkwardly. He was stiff and aching all over, like every evening. His body couldn't accustom itself to hard physical labor. He thought for a moment of going to see Remus, the herbologist brother in charge of the infirmary, but decided against it. Remus worried about him, questioned him about his nightmares, and wouldn't let him leave without a calming draught, which Harry preferred to do without because it left him dazed all the next day.

Suddenly, a hand took hold of his arm and pulled him up. Harry lifted his head, but his 'thank-you' died on his lips. Prior Lucius stood before him.

The man possessed an incredible presence: tall and built like a statue of antiquity. He was also quite beautiful. But the inevitable admiration that he evoked, in both sexes, transformed quickly into fear. He was ambitious, manipulative, and tyrannical, and one could read all of this in his eyes, if one was just the least bit observant.

The title of Prior made him the second most powerful monk in the abbey, and everyone knew that he hoped to take charge one day. The monks joked amongst themselves, saying that during the Office, Lucius no doubt prayed for Albus' death. He carried on a privileged relationship with Count Cornelius, who appointed the Father Abbot on his lands. There _was_ something worse than his blind ambition, Harry thought as he met the light eyes intently watching his. Lucius was corrupt to the core and allowed his basest instincts to rule him, instead of controlling them as his position required.

"Why are you still here in the church, Harry?"

The voice was smooth, without a hint of reproach. Harry, though, still felt self-conscious.

"I've just made my confession, Prior."

"I hope that Severus wasn't too harsh with you. He lacks the leniency needed for the younger brothers."

Lucius stroked Harry's cheek, making him pull away, which made the man smile. He was like an animal with its prey.

"Severus is indeed the Novice Master, but you are not obligated to choose him as confessor. The Rule is clear: you could confess to me without Severus having any say in it at all. Believe me, I'm much more accommodating, no matter the sin."

"I'll take you at your word," Harry replied, unable to rid his voice of sarcasm. "Your…leniency is well-known among the young monks. Thank you for your offer, but I 'm not interested."

Lucius' hand closed on his arm again like a vise. "Be careful, my young friend. The fate of all men is tied to those more powerful than themselves, whether inside or outside the cloister. You might regret having chosen the wrong side in the near future."

Harry cheekily raised his chin. "There are choices one never regrets, Prior."

He pulled away from the loathsome contact and hurried toward the door. He ran to find his friends, feeling safer in their midst. Despite his courage, he had to admit that Lucius frightened him. He was perhaps only a novice, but he was smart enough to know that in Lucius, he had a formidable enemy.


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

The first bell, which announced the Office of Lauds, was always the most sorrowful. It tore the monks from their beds, still drowsy and shivering with cold, and pushed them toward the church while the sun was still not up. One had to fast to partake of Communion, so the first meal wasn't for a long while—no comfort there.

It was in the novices' dormitory where the sound of the bell was least welcomed. The boys arose, grumbling, and the Rule of St. Benedict was sometimes maligned.

"What an odd bloke he must've been! Why's it so important for us to be up so early!" Seamus opined, always grumpy in the morning.

"No time to spare when you're serving God," Dean interjected, his falsely angelic mien making his friends snigger.

Benedict of Nursia had written the rules that ordered the monks' lives, rules according to which all Benedictines in Europe lived. These rules were sometimes gentle and consoling, as when Benedict dictated how they must study and work: occupations that served to chase away evil thoughts that sometimes plagued the monks, even as religious as they were. But other aspects of the Rule were difficult to live: the Office of Matins fell between the hours of two and three in the morning. Still half-asleep, monks were called from their beds by the brother on watch to recite the psalms. Then they were permitted to go back to bed until time for Lauds. The novices, judged to be too young, were excused from Matins.

"Enjoy your last full nights of sleep, my brothers," Seamus advised darkly. "At the end of the novitiate, we'll have to get up like all the others. I'm already tired in advance."

"How about we vote on a new timetable?" Neville asked jovially.

Standing next to him, Blaise appeared genuinely outraged. "It's forbidden to criticize the Rule. I could denounce all of you at the next assembly!"

Half of the dormitory booed him; the other half was still too sleepy to react, including Harry, still sitting on his bed as he rubbed his eyes, even though there was nothing about a monastery bed that would make one want to linger: wooden slats, rough material filled with straw, and a very thin coverlet for over top. St. Benedict had intended this to combat the natural laziness of man, but Harry still found it hard to endure.

He turned to Ron, who still hadn't sat up. "Did I make noise during the night?"

Harry was prone to nightmares and sometimes cried out in his sleep, which earned him a bit of animosity from some of the novices. There was nothing he could do about it, though. When he was a child, he'd witnessed the murder of his parents by a highwayman called Tom Riddle. Harry'd never fully recovered from the trauma. He couldn't talk about it with anyone, and there was not one to listen, in any case. Times were hard for everyone, and he wasn't the first to have suffered a tragedy.

"Mmmm…" Ron mumbled. Only his red hair stuck up from the bed.

Harry repeated his question.

"I don't know," Ron finally grumbled. "I slept like a log." Still in a semi-stupor, he rubbed his face with his hands

Harry's eyes widened with incredulity as he leant toward him. "You went out again last night?"

"No lecture, for pity's sake. I've had my fill of it."

He pulled himself from his pallet and staggered to his feet. Harry gave up trying to reason with him. It was clear that Ron was in love: he wasn't doing what he was doing for the thrill of taking a chance; therefore, appealing to his common sense wouldn't work.

Severus' voice called out, telling them to hurry. They risked being late for the Office and disturbing the prayers of thanks to God for the never-ending miracle of a new day. Harry shot a sideways glance at the Novice Master. His slender and austere form moved elegantly among the pallets. But the black, Benedictine robe made him look gaunt, and lent him a forbidding manner that made many of the novices cringe in fear.

For Harry, though, the man's face was laden with melancholy, lined with a tragic sadness. His eyes were so intense that they seemed to read one's mind, and pierce the most rebellious of spirits, but sometimes they were pools of suppressed misery, as if they were wells of passion barely controlled by self-discipline and sacrifice. To the young man so furtively watching him, Severus seemed exhausted and distracted.

Harry wondered why: it wasn't like Severus to reveal the state of his soul. Harry would've given just about anything to know what tormented the man and how to help him.

The church was freezing. It was bearable during the hottest days of summer—which came down to about three days per year, but was very uncomfortable the rest of the time. Ron shifted from foot to foot, blowing on his hands. Harry was shaking uncontrollably. He was amazed that he could even stay on his feet. He now suspected that bad dreams had once again troubled his sleep. He hadn't really rested, and already the fatigue was weighing him down. It was going to be a long day…

Albus soon captured his attention. The abbot was presiding over the Mass, standing by the altar, but the Prior himself did the reading of the Gospel. For several weeks, Albus had been unable to carry out all the daily Masses on his own: his advanced age was making this more and more difficult. At this exact moment, the abbot had his hand clenched across his chest. 

Agony washed over Harry. Albus was so old, so exhausted. His bright eyes, which had sparkled with mischief not so long ago, now seemed lifeless most of the time. After his death, what would happen? Surely nothing good, neither for the abbey nor its inhabitants.

Harry prayed for Albus that morning.

"My brothers. I ask for your attention."

All movement in the church ceased. Harry, who'd been about to step out from his pew, was struck immobile by a sudden fear and a horrible sense of foreboding. Lucius surveyed the assembly with a haughty look, then continued.

"Just a few minutes ago, Bailiff Kingsley came to me with some very serious information. A man who was not recognized has been seen at night in the village streets. A man wearing a Benedictine habit! One of our own!" He paused for emphasis, then began again, his voice heavy with menace. "I have no need to reinforce that the Rule forbids venturing beyond the walls, unless special permission has been granted. This means that one of us left the grounds to engage in illicit activities, believing that darkness would hide his misdeeds. He has committed a most grievous sin!"

No one in the assembly made a sound. Everyone seemed stunned, as much by the audacity of the one among them as by Lucius' uncompromising words. Harry didn't look at Ron. Just a simple glance right now could give him away.

"And it's probably not the first time, which only adds to the outrage. I am going to ask a question, and I expect a prompt response: who left the cloister last night?"

Silence.

The monks dared not even look at one another, knowing that the Prior was watching them.

"Who?!" Lucius thundered.

An even more profound silence—almost suffocating—was his only answer.

"Very well," he calmly said, as if he'd expected and even looked for this response. "I will make inquiries; I will also hear each of your private confessions. If the culprit is not found, everyone will bear the consequences. We are a community; the dishonor of one reflects on us all. Go."

This time, that was the end of it. The pews emptied, and Harry waited as the monks dispersed to face another busy day. He grabbed Ron by the arm.

"What're you going to do?"

"What do you think? For sure, I'm not going to turn myself in. I know all too well what the Prior has in store for me."

Harry nodded. Once in Lucius' hands, the little lost lamb would have the rest of his life to regret that he'd strayed. 

Ron met his eyes. "You're not going to tell on me, are you?"

"Don't be an idiot on top of being stupid! But I hope you've learnt your lesson. Your going out at night is too dangerous."

Ron clenched his jaw. "I won't stop. I'll wait until things calm down, and then I'm going to see Hermione again."

"You're mad!" Harry cried, appalled. "You're only going to get yourself in deeper trouble."

"I love her. Nothing can keep me away."

"You've read too many books on chivalry! You're not a knight in shining armor, riding in on your mighty steed to save her from the dragon."

Ron only smiled, seeming defiant. "Maybe I took a wrong turn in my life, and now I'm thinking to fix it."

Those words left Harry speechless. Ron was thinking of leaving the monastic life! It didn't happen often, according to the abbey's history books. Despite the rigors of their life, few monks renounced the privileges of the habit. The abbey ensured a roof over their heads, a bed, and enough food, in addition to the respect of others and protections of the authorities.

And lastly, there was the hope of making one's salvation and gaining eternal life—a better life—and of escaping the everlasting torments of Hell.

Either Ron wasn't thinking, or he was extraordinarily brave.

Harry pushed these thoughts aside, deciding not to follow the other novices. He wanted to see Albus; he needed to make sure that the man was all right.

He hurried toward the library, taking the steps up to the second story. The copyists and illuminators hadn't arrived yet, but he knew that Albus didn't like to be away from his precious books for long. Indeed, he found him seated by the window, leafing lovingly through a manuscript, the pages of which were magnificently illustrated. The old man looked up and smiled at him. That alone was almost enough to reassure the novice.

Albus had always shown a great fondness for Harry, treating him like a son. He allowed to him spend hours with the books they both loved so much, and encouraged him to draw on old parchments (ones that had been scribbled on and erased so much they were useless), to perfect his skill in anticipation of the day when it'd be his turn to bend over the precious manuscripts to enhance and add to their beauty and value.

"You look tired, Father," Harry commented.

"Only natural, given my age and responsibilities."

"I know. But earlier, in church, you looked like you were having trouble breathing."

Albus' eyes sparkled. "I see that you were not intent on your prayers, Harry."

Harry looked sheepish.

"I’m fine, so don't worry. Would you like to look at some books?"

Harry knew well that the abbot was trying to change the subject, but the books were very tempting. He nodded energetically. The abbey library contained veritable treasure: rare books not to be found elsewhere, books so superbly illuminated that they'd tripled in value, books that housed all the knowledge of the age.

In this day and age, it was possible to contain all of human knowledge in a single library, but humanity was making such leaps and bounds that this would soon be impossible. Or so Albus said. He staunchly believed that the progress of knowledge would lead to the greater happiness and wisdom of all men. Not everyone shared in his optimism, however. Harry, for his part, believed in Albus, and had made the man's theories on knowledge and happiness his own.

"Father, do you truly believe that man still has great discoveries to make?"

"Oh yes! Man is still but a child at the beginning of his history. He's already learnt a great deal from the Dark Ages, but he is going to grow, and mature, and conquer his fears. His way of life will change, his thinking will evolve. "

"But how?" Harry interrupted impatiently; he liked discussion rooted in the concrete, not purely philosophical musings. What could he learn that he didn't already know?

"My dear child, if I could predict the future, I wouldn't be here."

"You would be pope?" the young man joked with a smile.

"I'd be in an Inquisitor's prison, if you want my opinion. If you wish to lift the veil to the future, you should read the works of the Muslim scholars; they possess astonishing knowledge that Christians are wrong to dismiss."

Harry felt his curiosity quicken. He wanted to learn new things from others; he was bursting with the desire to be someone, to gather knowledge that superseded the ordinary. But he remembered the recommendations of the Novice Master, whom he respected so much.

"But Brother Severus told us never to touch the books of the infidels, that they contain a magic that's dangerous to our spirits."

Albus laughed heartily. "Words well put, but ones that will only encourage young monks to seek out the forbidden books, I'll wager. Dear Severus is very stubborn; what he doesn't know makes him afraid. Even worse, what entices and attracts him makes him afraid. He'd rather bridle his intelligence and his reason than open the door to new horizons, out of fear that they'll give him too much pleasure."

Harry stared at him, distracted. Albus tapped him on the cheek and clarified, "What I mean is that there's a magic that is clearly evil, the end of which is the destruction of man. There's also a good magic, a divine work that serves to prolong human life, to compensate for its weaknesses. I am now too old, but you—you will live to see these things of which I speak, if humankind decides to grow towards the light."

Albus' voice shook, lowered by intensity. Harry tore his gaze from a book with dazzling colors. He should leave Albus to his hours of rest. Then he remembered the crisis brewing in the abbey.

"Father, did you hear that the Prior wants to hear all of our confessions?"

"He's doing his duty. He must ensure the discipline and respect of the Rule."

"He's overly strict! He'll punish the guilty person harshly."

"Do you know who our little lost lamb is, Harry?"

"Yes, I know. But I don't want to denounce him. Is that so wrong?"

"That depends. What is one of our brothers doing outside the walls in the middle of the night?"

"He's not doing anything bad."

The words were barely out of his mouth when Harry stopped, then hesitated. Ron certainly wasn't out preaching the gospel…

"He's not breaking any civil laws," Harry said, carefully choosing his words. "He's not stealing, not dealing in the black market, but… Well, he's doing something that's not…recommended for a monk."

"He's seeing a woman," Albus said calmly. "I suspected as much." He smiled at the stupefied look on Harry's face. "This happens more often that you'd think. I won't belabor the proverb, "The flesh is weak, and celibacy is hard," as you've already heard it. I'll speak to Lucius, so he doesn't start a witch hunt."

Albus stood, staggered on his feet, then sat down again in his chair. Worried, Harry held out his hand to steady him. He watched Albus slowly fall forward, his face twisted in pain.

Harry slowed his fall, and helped him to lie down on the floor, taking care so he didn't hit his head. Albus' eyes were closed, and he was breathing noisily.

Panic-stricken, Harry took off at run for help.


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

Albus was carried to the infirmary. Brother Remus came at once to his bedside, and asked Harry to leave. Wringing his hands, the young man left reluctantly. He joined the other novices who'd already heard the news. Severus said nothing about Harry's tardiness.

Albus' illness postponed the Prior's plan. Lucius had to keep the abbey running while its head was unable to function. He was no longer in a position to waste precious hours interrogating each and every monk. But at the end of the Office of Nones, he made it clear that the matter had only been delayed…then directed that prayers be said for the Abbot.

"He must be hoping the Abbot doesn't get better," muttered on of the more cynical monks. "He'd finally be in charge, just as he wants."

"God help us," replied another.

Despite his brave words, Ron was afraid. He'd been almost beside himself since that morning. "If Albus dies, what'll happen?" he asked, his face ashen.

"Count Cornelius will name someone else, and they say the Prior's his favorite by far," Filius answered.

Filius had been at the abbey longer than anyone, and spoke from experience.

Ron continued, still uneasy. "What if the Abbot doesn't die, but, say…loses his mind?"

"Then the Prior will take over until Albus is replaced. No way out, my brother."

Laughing softly, Filius walked away. Ron swore softly under his breath. Harry was pale—he could sense the growing threat. The world would be very different under the Prior's control.

By the end of the day, no one had had any further news of Albus' condition. Harry decided to stop by the infirmary in the hopes that Remus would reassure him.

There was no one in the dispensary where Remus stored his remedies. Distillery equipment, glass and earthenware containers lined the long shelf that ran the length of the wall. Harry was much impressed by the room with its vases and ewers filled with many-colored substances.

The door leading to Remus' private room was ajar. Harry tiptoed a bit closer to take a look inside. To his great surprise, he saw Severus sitting beside the bed; the voice speaking to him was the Abbot's. So, Remus had given his own room to the Abbot, instead of putting him in the infirmary dormitory.

Harry tried to take comfort in this, telling himself this wasn't because his condition was serious, but only because the Abbot had privileges.

Even so, Albus' voice was very weak and almost unrecognizable. Harry's heart constricted.

"I'm afraid the decision is no longer in my hands, Severus."

"You're going to be fine, Remus says. Even though we rarely get along on a personal level, I trust his abilities as a healer."

"He can do nothing about the ravages of age nor the decay of the body. My heart is tired and no one can give me a new one."

"I'm astonished that with your insane optimism, you've not proclaimed that one day medicine will know how to do exactly that."

"Surely one day," Albus retorted.

Harry could just imagine the Abbot's eyes gleaming with mischief. He began to hope that this episode had only been a false alarm. But why did the Novice Master seem so devastated?

"You know what will happen to the abbey with Lucius in charge?"

"Don't judge him on mere intentions alone. Perhaps he will surprise you."

"Certainly, he'll astound me with his perversity, his cruelty and his injustice. Life here will be hell, not to mention the debauchery he'll encourage by his own example."

"Our brothers will not let him do such a thing."

"Our brothers will be overjoyed by a relaxation of discipline. Contrary to yourself, I have no faith in human nature, which is naturally predisposed to vice. I'm in a position to know this very well."

His voice was very bitter; through the half-open door, Harry watched as Severus lowered his head. He didn't understand; what could the Novice Master possibly have done that was so wrong? He was strictness personified, demanding of others and even more so of himself.

Albus coughed a bit in an effort to strengthen his voice. "You are too hard on yourself. I've told you this over and over. You know your weaknesses and you master them. You never allow them to stain your character."

"So far as my actions are concerned, that is true. But if you knew what goes on in my soul. It's tormented and struggles with itself, and gets the better of me. The moment I open my eyes or speak, I sin." Then he added, "I'm cursed, Albus."

"Of course, you're not. You know how much I value you, the respect I have for your courage. Continue to fight and you will be victorious."

Albus could now hardly be heard. Severus squeezed his hand as he stood.

"I beg your forgiveness; I'm wearing you out needlessly."

Harry beat a hasty retreat, almost colliding with Neville, who'd just come into the dispensary. It was Neville, though, who mumbled an apology.

He was a novice too; his talent for caring for plants had logically led to his being Remus' apprentice. He was very kind, quite shy, and profoundly clumsy. Remus often was to the point of pulling out his hair over ruined potions and broken phials.

"I came to see if there was any news about Father Abbot," Harry said, blushing at having been caught eavesdropping.

"I've nothing to tell you," Neville replied, just as embarrassed as Harry. "You should wait for Remus."

The Novice Master appeared suddenly, and frowned when he saw Neville and Harry. "What are the two of you doing here?"

"We wanted to know how Father Abbot is," Harry replied, having regained his composure.

Severus hesitated, as if he were having a hard time biting back an unpleasant reply, then finished by muttering, "He's awake and resting. Both of you, on the other hand, have tasks to attend to. Back to work, gentlemen."

They left without looking back. Neville shot Harry a sympathetic smile. Harry returned it, then went on his way as well. He thought to himself that he'd overheard an important conversation, but he wasn't entirely sure what it meant.

***

That evening in the dining hall, Lucius announced that Albus had sustained serious damage to his heart, and that he was in need of considerable rest. Remus was caring for him, so he was in excellent hands. With a half-smile, the Prior took his seat and clapped his hands to signal the start of the meal, just as was Albus' habit.

"The king is dead, long live the king," Dean murmured. "That's it—he's already acting like the lord of the manor."

Ron growled angrily, "We're all going to suffer, I say! And it'd be in a novice's best interest not to end up alone with him."

"Silence!" Lucius thundered. "Must I remind you of the Rule?"

Harry secretly watched the Prior throughout the meal. The man had a smug air about him that betrayed his true character. Even if he'd left Albus' seat empty, he had every intention of occupying it in the near future.

Lucius suddenly looked up and met Harry's eyes. When he smiled unpleasantly, Harry froze in fear, then lowered his eyes.

As the monks left the refectory, the sound of horses' hoofbeats could be heard from the paved courtyard. Harry recognized the rider, Count Cornelius, who was the lay ruler of the abbey. News traveled quickly.

The man with the power to appoint the Abbot was in his sixties. Rumor had it that he'd reached this venerable age by steering clear of battle. He was reputedly a better diplomat than a soldier, and had known how to get himself in the good graces of a Duke, who'd then made his career for him. Society was a pyramid, from the most powerful at the top to the lowliest at the very bottom.

Lucius came out to meet the Count; they greeted each other, then the Prior took his guest to the room that served as the Abbot's study. The monks recognized the truth at once: the Count had not come to wish Albus a speedy recovery. He'd come to discuss the future of the abbey.

Harry went to bed that night with a heavy foreboding that his life was about to radically change.

The next day, the rumor spread amongst the monks at the speed of a galloping horse: Count Cornelius didn't even want to wait and see if Father Albus would recover, and had relieved him of his duties. The Prior was to run the abbey until a new appointment was made.

Many found this decision hasty and unfair, and were angered at the lack of consideration for Albus, who'd been an exemplary Abbot for over twenty years. There were many, too, who'd given up all hope for him and were worried only about who'd replace him. Lucius had not been appointed, which was a good sign, wasn't it?

"I'd be very surprised," Filius said with the hint of a smile. "The Count will officially appoint him after a respectable delay, that's all, in order to keep up appearances. But the die has been cast, believe me."

A second rumor overtook the first: the Count had been infuriated to learn that a monk was slipping out of the cloister at nightfall; he'd invoked the prestige of the abbey, the reputation of the regular clergy. He'd encouraged Lucius—who had no need of it—to severely punish the culprit and make an example of him.

Lucius had begun his enquiry by calling the brothers, one by one, to his study.

Ron became positively green. "I'm lost," he groaned, and his crestfallen face would've been funny if the situation hadn't been so grave.

"You have to get a hold of yourself!" Harry pressed him. "If you fall apart like that in front of the Prior, he'll know right away that it's you."

"My god, what am I going to do?"

"You're going to put on your most innocent face and tell him you have no idea who the irresponsible person leaving the cloister is. You sleep soundly, you snore like anything, and your dormitory mates will vouch for that."

In spite of himself, Ron made as if to smile. "You're coaching me to lie; that's very bad."

"You'll make your confession to Severus."

"Certainly not!"

Just then, they crossed paths with Brother Argus, who carried out the duties of caretaker. He was coming from the Prior's study, and shot them a shifty look as he brushed past them. Then he suddenly turned back.

"Ah, Brother Harry. The Prior is waiting for you."

Harry started with surprise. So, the moment had finally come for him to put on his act for the Prior. It would be easier for him than for Ron, since Harry was innocent. He'd never denounce Ron. He headed unhurriedly to the main building, giving himself time to plaster a neutral expression on his face and to slow his nervous breathing. He took the corridor beneath the archway and knocked at the door; Lucius' voice called out for him to enter.

The Prior was standing at the open window overlooking the cloister garden. It was deserted at this time of morning, which was set aside for intellectual work. The view of herbs and flowers was particularly soothing for Albus, who spent long hours in this room. Lucius smiled widely as he went to sit in the Abbot's chair.

"Do you know why you are here, Harry?"

"You're looking for who among us went over the wall. But it's not me."

"That I know," Lucius said nonchalantly.

"Oh. Really?"

"As it turns out, Bailiff Kingsley led his own investigation in the village. He learnt from a shopkeeper couple—livid with rage, by the way—that the runaway monk had a tryst with their daughter. Do you know the story of Eloise and Abelard?"

"The cleric Abelard fell in love with the beautiful Eloise. He was castrated as punishment for his sin."

"A simplistic summary that does no justice to the beauty of their relationship, both intellectual and passionate at once. But let's move on. Young, handsome monks give in to their nature to run after females. That is not the case with your nature, is it, Harry?"

The novice jumped up, indignant. "What right do you--?"

"I know I'm not mistaken. I can always sense those who share my tastes. There's nothing of which to be ashamed. You know the Scripture: the allusion to David and Jonathan couldn't have escaped your notice."

"I'm not ashamed of anything," Harry replied cockily. "The Rule demands that we be celibate; so what does it matter who attracts us?"

Lucius began to laugh. "Now that's a charmingly refreshing remark, well worthy of a novice! Years from now, I can assure you with confidence that you will find the Rule unfair, mind-numbing and contrary to human nature. You will convince yourself that to give in to your desires will not offend God."

"You've managed to convince yourself, I've no doubt."

"I will convince you as well."

"Never."

Harry, almost beside himself, did an about face and went for the door. He had his hand on the latch when Lucius' voice stopped him.

"Your friend Ron."

Frozen, unable to believe his ears, Harry turned around.

"It's your friend Ron who's leaving the cloister to see this young woman," Lucius calmly stated. "Come in, and close the door."

Harry obeyed, but didn't want to lay down his arms so easily. "Ron? What a ridiculous idea!"

"Ah. He didn't tell you anything? That surprises me. Our proficient caretaker, Argus of the eagle eye, was adamant: it was your friend with the flaming red hair whom he spotted sneaking out through the small door that leads to the river. And he certainly wasn't going there to do his laundry."

Harry would've liked to have had an explanation, an excuse, a reason, anything to clear Ron. But his mind came up empty. Lucius was obviously enjoying himself, reading what he saw on Harry's flushed face.

He went on, "You must ask yourself what will become of your friend. I've not yet decided, frankly. I'll not expel him from the Order: he would be too happy, this young idiot who dreams of what he can never have. He deserves a punishment proportionate to the gravity of his offense, a punishment that will equally make an impression on the entire community. Even the whip and the dungeon seem too conventional. Perhaps if I turn him over for civil justice, as the parents of the seduced girl have demanded. To avenge their honor, they'll clamor for the same sentence as poor Abelard perhaps."

"You wouldn't let them do that!" Harry exclaimed, his eyes as big as saucers.

"You don't think so? Well, you're right to have faith in me. I have every intention of handling this unhappy affair with discretion, and of telling the Count that I'm in charge of punishing the culprit. On one condition."

Harry knew what was coming before Lucius said another word.


	5. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five**

Harry knew what Lucius was going to say even before he opened his mouth. It felt as if his heart had stopped and dropped into his stomach.

"Spend the night with me, and I'll forget the whole affair."

Harry clenched his jaw. Surprising himself, he found the strength to be ironic. "I don't suppose you'll be expecting me to read the Gospels to you?"

Lucius lifted an eyebrow. "Only you can save Ron," he said coldly. "Decide quickly; it's a one-time offer. Perhaps I would derive as much pleasure from tormenting your friend as from deflowering you."

Just the word 'deflower' made Harry squirm uncomfortably. His first impulse was to run from the room and abandon Ron to face the consequences of his actions. After all, he was the one who'd got himself in so deep.

But very quickly, the best of what was deep inside Harry—his loyalty and his courage—rose to the surface. If it was within his power to help Ron, he had to do it, no matter the cost. It would just be a bad experience to get through. How significant was a single event in light of an entire life?

The Prior was able to perfectly interpret Harry's air of resignation.

"I congratulate you for your excellent decision."

Not wanting to hear anything more, Harry left. Once outside, he leant against the wall and took a great gulp of air. It wasn't enough to loosen the vice-like sensation that squeezed his chest. He clapped a hand over his mouth and took off at a run as nausea was about to overcome him.

When the trap was about to snap shut, what was left to ask God? What was there to say to him in prayer? Something like: 'Why do you put men like Lucius in charge of other people?'

_One must never question divine will, Harry. He knows better than you what he must do. Furthermore, in this violent and barbaric world, there are people whose fates are worse than your own_.

In his head, the soothing words were always in Albus' voice.

Albus, though, could do nothing to help him. He was seriously ill, exhausted, with other things to worry about, and he couldn't protect Ron from a just punishment for having violated the Rule of St. Benedict.

"Forgive me, Lord. I'm going to commit a grave sin. But you know that in my heart, I don't want to do it."

_But how many times have you sinned in your thoughts? How many times have you imagined, dreamed, even wanted what's going to happen to you tonight? Your perverted spirit is already reveling in this sin. This will be but one more step in your moral deterioration_.

The time it was Lucius' voice that resonated in his head.

Harry clenched his fists. Not Lucius. It wasn't Lucius he'd dreamt of...

***

To his right, Dean nudged him with an elbow. The evening Office was just finishing; it was time for everyone to go to bed. Harry pulled the cowl up over his head at the door of the church.

Ron, who'd been watching him silently for a moment, said hesitantly, "Harry, are you—"

"Leave me alone!"

Harry left the troupe of novices and headed off in a different direction. It was not his bed that was waiting for him on this night.

***

Sick in his soul, he knocked on Lucius' door. The Prior was blessed with his own room, unable to lower himself to share a dormitory with ordinary monks.

Within its walls, the abbey replicated the social inequality that existed outside of them. Lucius, as well as Albus, came from an aristocratic family for whom the Church was just one more way to gain power, more influence, more privilege. The manner in which Lucius broke the Rule showed only too well his scorn for the Christian faith. Being a monk in no way prevented him from satisfying his sexual urges.

Saint Benedict of Nursia would've turned over in his grave. He who'd dreamt of purity and equality, to witness his life's work so perverted by those from within….

Lucius opened the door and gestured for Harry to enter. The door slammed shut behind him with a muffled sound that reminded Harry of a tomb being sealed.

The Prior graced him with a smile. "I'm sincerely glad you're here."

"The feeling's not mutual."

"Don't be so distraught. There's a first time for everything."

Lucius reached out to caress his cheek. With a brusque move, Harry stopped him. "Don't touch me!' 

"And yet, that is exactly my plan," Lucius said as he lifted an ironic eyebrow. "That shouldn't surprise you. You're perfectly aware of my intentions despite your charming innocence."

"You're sick."

"I know, I know. Let's make a few things perfectly clear: I've no interest in tying you up and taking you by force. I will resort to that, however, if you leave me no choice. You agreed and I'll not allow you to change your mind."

Harry's eyes flashed with anger and contempt. "Whether by violence or by blackmail, you're still forcing me, Lucius."

Lucius smiled at him. Harry would've given anything to wipe that smile away with his fist.

"Perfect. I'd rather have you by force than not have you at all." His voice wasn't even menacing—one could detect a hint of desire mixed with a calm confidence. "Think, Harry. Tonight could be satisfying for both of us. You're a virgin: rape would be incredibly painful. With your submission, I could give you so much pleasure. Trust me."

Trust. This animal's insolence knew no bounds.

"Silence implies consent. Excellent choice, Harry."

"What guarantee do I have that you'll only make me do this once?"

"You flatter yourself, my young friend. You are definitely charming, but once will be enough."

The young man's burden lifted ever so slightly. He stood in front of Lucius, stiff and awkward, his face full of scorn.

Lucius murmured, "You could break a heart of stone." He leant in and captured the novice's mouth in a kiss. Harry stiffened even more.

He'd already been kissed several months before by a boy his own age. That had convinced him of which way his natural tendencies lay, and he'd vowed to himself to never give in to this vice. Now, he could only submit, while Lucius devoured his lips with a predatory ardor. It was oppressive, terrifying, a violation of his person. And of course, it wasn't an entirely unpleasant sensation.

Harry realized that Lucius hadn't lied when he'd mentioned pleasure. He was definitely going to climax tonight, and he hated himself for it.

When Lucius let go of him, Harry had trouble catching his breath. Oh God.

Lucius' eyes, glazed with arousal, inspected him from head to toe. "Are you ready to submit to my will?"

"Yes," Harry replied in spite of himself, burning with shame and repressed rage.

"You're going to have to prove it to me."

Lucius reached out and lifted his chin to kiss him again, crushing Harry's lips, forcing them open, plunging inside with his tongue to wantonly explore his mouth. Harry quivered from being so passionately kissed, of being held so tightly against the man's body. He didn't like Lucius, he didn't want him…but he had to acknowledge his physical beauty and his expertise at kissing. Despite himself, Harry felt his body begin to respond.

Gasping for breath, he pulled away from the embrace.

The most difficult part of monastic life was the complete and utter absence of physical contact. Human beings needed tenderness and signs of affection. Harry more than others, perhaps.

He'd never known the love of a mother, nor anyone for that matter. So it was no surprise that his senses were being awakened by the kisses and caresses, even those of an enemy. The same would've been true of anyone in Lucius' place, provided he wasn't too repulsive.

In spite of this fine rationalization, Harry was deeply unhappy with himself. Aggravating the situation even further, Lucius' half-smile was evidence that he'd guessed why Harry'd pulled away.

"You're going to love it, I promise. Get undressed."

Harry lowered his head. He didn't want to do it; he'd give anything for it not to happen.

"Come, come," Lucius said impatiently. "You don't believe I'll be satisfied with just a few kisses?"

"Go to hell," Harry muttered.

"All in good time," Lucius replied nonchalantly.

With trembling hands, Harry undid his corded belt, let his black cassock fall to his feet, then pulled his shirt off over his head. He stood still, arms dangling at his side. Lucius studied him appreciatively. Harry felt a lump form in his throat as tears filled his eyes. He turned his head to look away, but the Prior's hand gripped his chin and forced him to show his face.

"That will not do," the man said forcefully. "A single tear, and the deal is off. A single tear, and your friend is lost."

Harry had to force himself to swallow his saliva. Lucius lowered his gaze as he dropped his hand to the boyish chest. "As delicious as I imagined…."

Lucius crushed Harry brusquely to him, taking his mouth again so harshly that it hurt; Harry detected the metallic taste of blood on his tongue. He detested the feel of Lucius' clothing against his skin, as if being naked in this man's arms somehow made him more vulnerable. And for the first time, he felt terror overtake him at the thought of what was about to happen to him tonight.

The door was slammed open from the outside.

"Lucius, a moment of your precious time, if you please."

Severus' inimitable voice made the Prior jump, then Harry was released. The Novice Master fixed first Lucius then Harry with an icy glare. He couldn't help but see Harry's uncontrollable shaking, his bloodied lip, the tears now running slowly down his face. But he made no sign that he saw.

Lucius wasn't off-balance for long. "So, my brother, what is so urgent. I'm busy."

"So I see."

Harry wanted to scream. How could Severus be so cold and indifferent? Was he going to go and leave him there? Didn't he comprehend that his novice wasn't there of his own free will?

Severus finally met his desperate eyes. But Harry couldn't detect the least bit of sympathy there.

"Get dressed."

Feeling nothing, Harry obeyed. He'd been rescued, and yet, his distress knew no bounds.

Lucius frowned and began to reply menacingly, 'Severus, it's inconvenient…"

"Inconvenient to pursue this topic of conversation just now," Severus interrupted. He kept his eyes fixed on the Prior while Harry covered his nakedness with his habit. 

The young man stared intently at Severus. He wanted to talk to him, to explain.

"Off with you," Severus advised him with an abrupt gesture.

"Master…"

"Get out of here," Lucius added casually.

The Prior and the Novice Master were watching each other, not paying Harry the slightest attention. Harry went out and shut the door behind him.

His legs carried him to the courtyard without him knowing how. Then his strength gave out and he fell to his knees, choking with sobs.

Severus had saved him, yes, but he'd radiated contempt. What did he think of him now?

Despairing, Harry wrung his hands. He didn't ever want to have to face Severus again. Nor Lucius. He didn't want to have to suffer their stares, nor their comments, nor the consequences of this night. He wanted it all to stop.

He looked up at the tower that overhung the abbey.

He found his answer there. He now knew what he had to do. If he climbed to the top and opened the window, all his problems would disappear.

He could forget Severus forever.

***

Harry tried to get up off his knees. Just one last effort to get himself to the tower, and that would be the end of it.

A hand grasped his shoulder. "Harry?"

Pulled from his torment, Harry didn't know at first who was speaking. So the monk shook him again, insistently. "Harry!"

Harry got to his feet unsteadily, and finally recognized Ron. He looked at his friend in disbelief. What was he doing there?

"Harry! Did Severus get there in time?"

"What? What do you mean?" Harry cried, coming out of his stupor.

"I'm talking about our beloved Master. You know, the tall, dark-haired, unpleasant man who tortures us all day long? I'm the one who sent him."

Faced with his friend's lost look, Ron explained patiently, "I know what the Prior asked you this afternoon. I was hiding underneath the window. I didn't know what you decided, but when you headed for Lucius' rooms, I ran to see Brother Severus and told him everything."

"You mean he knows?" Harry asked, not daring to believe it. "He knows Lucius was forcing me?"

"Yes. He also knows it was me who went over the wall, but that didn't seem to upset him. When I finished telling him, he took off at a run, so I hope he got there in time."

Ron couldn't bring himself to ask the question outright; he blushed in embarrassment. Harry hung his head in silence.

Ron brightened. "Thank God! I'd've never forgiven myself."

Harry felt as if a huge weight had just lifted from his shoulders. Severus knew everything. He hadn't intervened by accident.

Ron took his arm and led him toward the dormitory. Harry was almost staggering with relief. He stretched out on his bed, happy for its relative protection. At the other end of the dormitory was the Novice Master's room. The man would soon be back to watch over them. And over him.

Just the simple thought was amazingly comforting. Severus had saved him. Harry recalled the man's sensational break-in to Lucius' rooms. He'd believed that his scornful attitude had been directed at him, but maybe…maybe his contempt had been meant for the Prior. Harry couldn't bear the thought that Severus might think ill of him for something that wasn't his fault.

Severus had saved him. And with these words repeating over and over in his head, Harry fell asleep.

***

A good night's sleep had restored Harry's optimism. The evening before, he'd almost stained his soul with the grave sin of suicide. But in the morning, the situation seemed different.

He quickly realized that Severus intended to act as if nothing had happened. Still, Harry expected to receive a penance (it wouldn't be the first time the Novice Master punished him unjustly), but the man didn't say a word. Harry liked to think that Severus didn't believe him guilty of a thing, and that he'd saved his reproaches for Lucius, when he'd remained alone with him the evening before.

As for Ron, he was climbing the walls, expecting at any moment to be called to the Prior's office. He'd admitted to Severus that he was the monk guilty of leaving the cloister; this would surely not go unpunished.

The day went by, though, without the matter being addressed. Ron didn't understand.

"If it's a new form of torture, it's working. I'm already hanging by my fingernails."

"Maybe Brother Severus convinced Lucius to forget the whole affair," Harry suggested.

"Maybe, but why would he? It's not as if he has any sympathy for me."

Ron twirled his spoon in his soup, for which he had no appetite. Anxiety alone couldn't explain why he was so glum. He missed his sweet Hermione, and he was tolerating the restraints of the cloister less and less. Even prayer didn't seem to give him any comfort.

Harry'd only seen Lucius again from a distance, and he was happy about that. In the refectory, he kept his face in his plate, and at chapel, his nose in his steepled fingers. He hoped that this way he could avoid all contact with the man he hated.

He'd come out of this misadventure very well. He'd kept his purity. He wasn't even cross with Ron for his careless behavior; he'd been the one to help him, after being the cause of all his troubles. But Harry hoped that from here on out, his friend would behave himself.

Even though he acted as though all was well, Harry wasn't able to convince his subconscious. He had terrible nightmares the following night. His sleep was both agitated and noisy, and it took Ron repeatedly shaking his shoulder to awaken him. All the novices were up and standing round his bed. Some of their faces reflected exasperation, but others seemed frightened.

Severus came through their midst, holding up a lantern. "You again. I should've increased your work. Perhaps exhaustion would assure us all of a good night's sleep." His voice lacked its usual sarcasm; it seemed unusually weary. "To bed, all of you."

Before turning on heel, he shot Harry a withering look as he said, "Come to see me tomorrow before the Office."

Some of the novices sniggered. Harry stretched out again. He was afraid to sleep just now. He'd caused everyone enough problems, especially Severus, and he wondered what the man would have to say to him.


	6. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six**

Early in the morning, Harry was worn out: nightmares, insomnia, the violent emotions he'd experienced over the past two days—the sum total of it all drained him of his strength. What he wanted was to curl up in a ball, hidden away from everyone so he could forget and sleep. But he wasn't supposed to give in to depression; he was supposed to be strong and ask God to soothe his tortured spirit.

He hurried across the courtyard, staying close to the walls, which had become his habit since his disastrous night with the Prior. To make himself totally forget became his obsession, and he shivered with shame: his innate courage rebelled at having to hide itself when he was guilty of nothing.

At this precise moment, the Prior appeared at the abbey door. Harry jumped and pressed himself against the wall, pulling the cowl up over his head. If only he had an invisibility cloak! Out of the corner of his eye—because his curiosity was greater than his fear—he verified that Lucius was accompanied by Count Cornelius Fudge, which wasn't a good thing. When civil authority meddled in the religious realm, only intrigue and deception came of it.

Harry went along quietly to hide beneath the archway. Lucius and the Count passed close by him. Fortunately, the dark Benedictine robes, along with the blackness of the night, conspired to help him. He saw then that the Count was with his wife, her imposing stature dwarfing him by half a head. Even without seeing her face, one would imagine her to be strict and intolerant. Harry bent over, hearing a single word: scandal. His heart clenched as he wondered about this scandal: was it him, or was it Ron? Who was about to suffer the wrath of the law? Harry couldn't stand the uncertainty, so he did an about-face, staying hunched over in the darkened cloister so he could hear their conversation.

The Count seemed extremely displeased, his face worried. "I'm counting on you to maintain order, Prior. I will not stand idly by and tolerate an abbey on my lands having its reputation sullied by questionable morals."

Each syllable breathed contempt. It wasn't clear whether he was more horrified by the fact that clerics shared the same common desires as the laity, or by the idea that his own name might in some way be linked to a scandal. Lucius replied animatedly, his voice earnest and especially self-righteous.

"I assure you that no one will have cause to say a word about the morals here. Albus' indulgence is to blame, and has allowed debauchery that I will not tolerate."

Harry choked with indignation. He already knew the Prior was a liar, a hypocrite, and corrupt. That, along with the fact that he'd go so far as to slander Albus, was beyond the pale! Harry had a wild urge to throw himself on Lucius and wipe that supercilious smirk off his face with a fist.

Burning with hatred, he started for the church again, and once there, he knelt at the foot of the altar. " _Credo in unum deum_ …" But what good was it to pray to a God who allowed men like Lucius to come to power? What power did God have then? And what good was it to serve a God who wasn't all-powerful?

The chapel filled as the other novices and monks arrived. To his great surprise, Harry saw Brother Severus clothed in alb and chasuble, ready to celebrate the Mass in place of the Prior.

"What's going on?" Ron breathed.

"The Prior is wearing ceremonial robes. They're saying the Count's about to announce Lucius' appointment as Abbot."

The Novice Master looked daggers at Ron, who was thus reduced to silence. During the liturgy, most of the monks seemed distracted: their responses came a beat too slowly, and their chants just didn't ring true. Severus looked exasperated; his furious eyes expressed all the reproach he didn't dare voice. His closing words of the Office resembled a muttered curse.

He then raised his voice to announce, "The monks are called to gather in the chapter room. The novices will work alone until I return."

He turned to the side to take off the chasuble while the chapel emptied. The novices knew their mentor well enough to decipher his dry tone and brusque gestures: the man was deeply displeased.

Despite the circumstances, the novices were happy to be left on their own.

"Do we really have to go to the fields?" sighed Dean, who seemed a bit lethargic.

"Seeing that no one's around to watch us," Seamus added mischievously. 

"There you have it. Everyone can do whatever he wants this morning," Blaise said firmly. "We'll meet up again at Tierce, and we'll all say we were working, agreed?"

Complicit smiles spread across their faces. Young men, whose families had consigned them to religious orders, like those destined to be soldiers, sometimes behaved like happy and carefree schoolboys. They scattered in every direction, like birds in flight.

Harry immediately thought of going to Albus's bedside. The Abbot—at least he still had the title for a few more hours—would listen to him, calm his doubts and his anger.

The door to the infirmary was blocked. No one answered when he knocked insistently. Cruelly disappointed, Harry walked away, his head down. He felt more alone than ever. In these times of distress, he liked to seek refuge in the library and admire the miniatures in the books on the psalms. And the librarian wouldn't be there to scold him for his clumsiness.

His decision made, Harry hurried along to the building. Albus always said there was no sorrow that a book couldn't cure….

How sad that Albus would no longer guide the abbey. Harry thought that he was losing his only chance to be happy within these walls; he was losing his substitute father.

He took a long look at the shelves filled with books, wondering which one would be able to lift the weight from his soul. Then his eyes settled on the copyists' desks. The parchments and coloring powders called to him almost irresistibly. He looked around to make sure he was alone, and then ran to sit at a table. His hands trembled with joy as he picked up a quill. He lost himself in his drawing.

As a result, he didn't see the figure walking toward him.

"Good day, my brother," said a confident voice.

Harry, aware that he'd been caught red-handed, jumped up, making his chair fall over. He recognized the Count's wife; she was standing in front of him, watching him without malice, but without indulgence either.

"Shouldn't you be at the meeting with your brothers?" she asked, an eyebrow lifted.

"No, Milady, I'm still just a novice."

The Countess had such a haughty and rigid physiognomy that Harry had to lower his eyes. Unperturbed, she continued, "I was thinking that you were too young to be making decisions on how to run the abbey."

Was it her condescension, or was it the anger that'd been simmering inside him for the past two days? He looked up again to say, "I'm supposed to take my vows in four months. I'll be old enough then to definitively commit my life, and yet, I'll be no different then from how I am today."

In retrospect, his own audacity frightened him; what a tone of voice he'd taken with the Countess! She must be infuriated! But on the contrary, the severe face relaxed into a half-smile.

"Your objection shows your maturity. You've just strongly proved that I was wrong to judge you for your youthfulness."

"I didn't mean to…."

"Don't apologize for having character. What is your name?"

"Harry."

"My name is Minerva. I'm the wife of the Count who oversees the abbey."

Harry nodded to signal that he knew this. She scrutinized him with an amiable curiosity now, as if his proud response had rather pleased her. Perhaps she wasn't used to a commoner standing up to her. She seemed to appreciate his courage. She walked to bend over the desk that Harry had so quickly abandoned.

"You have talent. Your drawing is very well done."

"Thank you, Milady."

"Are you going to become an illuminator?"

"That's what I want, if they allow me."

She seemed surprised. "Who, then, could hold you back?"

"The Abbot decides which activity would be most suitable for each monk. He could assign me to chop wood, if he likes."

"That would be a poor choice," Minerva smiled, as her eyes took in his frail stature.

"That's what I think too," Harry replied serenely.

"Lucius is an intelligent man; he would know how to judge each man's abilities."

Harry winced, his look of disgust not escaping Minerva's notice.

"You don't share my opinion?"

Harry was hesitant to speak. He didn't know a thing about this woman, and he didn't trust easily. His words might be turned against him. Noticing his reluctance, Minerva's face softened even more.

"I understand. Why would you bare your heart to me when I could be laying a trap? I could use your confidences unwisely. Perhaps someone's already betrayed your trust. Perhaps you've learnt, to your detriment, that in life, it's better to be distrustful."

Harry didn't answer, but his expressive green eyes spoke for him. Minerva nodded sadly. "Monastic life isn't what you hoped it would be, my child?"

She'd substituted 'my child' for 'my brother,' which seemed natural to the young monk. There was something motherly about the Countess, despite her sternness. 

"I don't know what I was hoping, Milady. I came here when I was very young, not knowing what to expect. I only know…that all of the monks aren't what they seem to be."

"It's sad to see a boy of your age so disenchanted."

She paced up and down in the scriptorium, her eyes far off while she spoke. "Harry, you're probably not aware, but the lands of your abbey belong to me. The entire earldom is mine, since it came to me through my father. Still, I don't have the right to make the least decision here, nor to concern myself with my subjects. Do you know why? Because I'm a woman. I have neither the right to determine the course of my life, nor to use my own holdings, nor to choose my spouse. The only way for me to live in my father's house was to marry a man who then became its master.

"I know very well how it feels to be a puppet, having someone else pull the strings, to not be in control of your own life."

She turned to the young monk. Her severe manner was suddenly mixed with pride and mischief, leading one to suspect that she wasn't always the victim in her life. She came back to Harry, and her serious words were in direct contrast to the complicit gleam in her eyes.

"There's only one way to regain control. Always be honest with yourself, and with others. Don't be docile and don't allow yourself to be manipulated."

She straightened, and became cool again, almost distant. "I must get on with my visit. I wish you a good day, my brother. May God watch over you."

"You as well, Milady."

She left, radiating an intimidating majesty.

Harry sat still, thinking. This encounter had much affected him. Minerva had exhorted him to be honest, and her message had struck a chord in him.

He had to tell the truth, and no longer allow Lucius to have control. By telling all, he could even save the abbey from Lucius. He shouldn't hesitate, even if the telling of it would mean humiliation for himself.

He dusted off his robes, combed through his black hair the best he could, and ran to stand at the front of the chapter room. Just as the gathering was about to end, Harry went resolutely to Count Cornelius.

"I ask your Excellence for an urgent meeting."

Faithful to their promises, the novices had regrouped near the chapel and were talking in lowered voices amongst themselves. They saw Severus heading in their direction, and cowered in fear.

"So, have you finished your daily tasks?" the man interrupted dryly with a withering look.

The novices nudged Blaise to the front; he stepped forward, with less of a swagger than that morning. "We…we worked outside, as is our duty."

Severus looked so skeptical that Blaise flushed beet-red.

"You actually think I'd believe that? I know very well that when the cat's away, the mice will play. You will all recite a Confiteor in penance for your lie. And tomorrow you will work twice as hard to atone for your laziness."

The novices, defeated, lowered their heads without protesting.

Blaise shot a furtive glance at Severus. He knew better than the other novices how to decipher the thoughts and moods of their fearsome Master.

"Master, is something bothering you?"

Severus broke out in a humorless smile that would've frightened a dragon. "The Prior is ready to announce his appointment. Our community has a new Abbot."

A heavy silence fell over the group.

"You will not forget to applaud his announcement," Severus finished dryly, running his eyes over his chagrined flock. "Where is Harry?"

Silently, Ron pointed toward the cloister. Under the archway, the distinct, somber silhouette of the Count could be seen. Severus frowned in alarm.

"What idiotic stunt is he up to now?"

The Count used an arm to brusquely push the novice out of his way. He took off at full stride for the chapel. His annoyance, his frustration even, was evident in every single one of his movements. At that moment, the bell rang, and still, no one moved.

"Don't just stand there," Severus growled. "Get in line."

Lucius, garbed in his ceremonial robes, was the last to arrive from the chapter house. He clapped his hands as he directed, visibly triumphant, "To the Office, my brothers, I have great news to share with you all."

"Not so quickly," interrupted the Count. "We still have a matter to discuss. May your community excuse the poor sinner that I am, but the next Office will have to go on without you."

He pulled Lucius to the side, and the Prior's crestfallen expression caused the novices to hope. Perhaps all was not lost.

Severus, on the other hand, pursed his lips in vexation. "My God, no…" he murmured to himself.

***

In the refectory, conversation was prohibited. The monks were supposed to only have ears for the holy readings, carried out by the brothers. They found a way, of course, to communicate by using an alphabet spelled out by hand. The exchanges generally were limited to 'pass me the jug,' but the novices were often more talkative.

"What happened?" Ron asked with a few rapid gestures.

"I told the Count that Lucius had made advances toward me, and that I wasn't the only one," Harry explained with his fingers. "The Count was very upset, and I got the impression he was as angry with me because I got in his way…."

Severus was suddenly in front of him, somber and stern. Harry stopped his hand guiltily. He expected to be reprimanded for his lack of discipline, albeit silent. But Severus, seeming more bothered than usual, said simply, "Follow me. We have to talk."

"But it's time to eat," Harry said in a hushed voice.

"And you're so hungry that you've yet to pick up your spoon! Get up!"

Harry obeyed, torn between fear and his happiness over this private conversation. He was no longer the shy young man of the night before, nor the pathetic victim of the Prior. He was taking control of his life. So it was with head held high that he fell in step behind with Severus. He'd no longer hug the walls in fear; from here on out, he wasn't going to hide himself anymore.

When they were out of earshot, Severus seemed to lose his self-restraint and grabbed Harry roughly by the shoulder. "What have you done? What did you say to that imbecile?"

Stunned, Harry pulled away abruptly. He hadn't expected this reaction from the one who'd saved him from the Prior. It was almost as if Severus were worried about Lucius. Suddenly, Harry felt himself cut to the quick by jealousy.

He looked at Severus with a fresh eye; he no longer trusted him, he no longer admired him, he was too disappointed. When Harry looked at him now, his eyes flashed with indignation.

"I don't think that's any of your business. You're the Novice Master, but there are certain things that you never seem to grasp. So go take care of your abbey affairs, or the Prior's, since you're so attached to him!"

Harry did and about-face to walk away. Severus seized his arm to hold him back. This movement ended with the novice pressed up against him.

For a moment, Harry felt a thrill. Never had he been so close to him, almost able to hear the beating of his heart, to feel the creased material of his black robe. He had to push away the overwhelming desire to stay there against his chest, to seek comfort and affection there.

"Tell me," Severus murmured at his ear, sounding less sure of himself than usual.

Harry's pride took the upper hand. He pulled away. "You wanted to talk to me. Isn't that what you told me last night? So go on. Maybe I'll have something to say to you as well."

Severus stared at him, his eyes glittering, making Harry fear an angry outburst. But the man took a deep breath and began, "What's happening within these walls is over your head. There are too many secrets. I'm referring more to Lucius' appetite for power than to his depraved behavior. The man is dangerous. I convinced him to leave you alone, as well as your friend Ron. I know much about Lucius: we were novices together, years ago. But in exchange, I promised him your silence. You must promise me—I can't stress this enough—you must promise me not to complain to _anyone_ about Lucius. Otherwise, the price to be paid will be very high. Reassure me—tell me you've not made this mistake."


	7. Chapter Seven

**Chapter Seven**

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. A vice of iron seemed to brutally squeeze his chest, making him almost suffocate with dread. His first inclination was to tell Severus the truth, to ask for his forgiveness, to beg for his help against Lucius. But he firmly pushed away this wave of panic. He was proud of having spoken to the Count, he was happy for having followed his instincts. He wasn't going to take it all back, even to please Severus.

"I can't believe this," he answered intensely. "You're asking me to be quiet or to lie? To act as if everything's fine in the abbey? You believe Lucius has the right to use blackmail to get what he wants? You know what you are? A hypocrite! And you're a monk; you've taken an oath to live your life at a higher standard than other men, for the glory of God. You're no better than the Prior. Your duplicity makes me sick!"

Severus reeled in shock from his words. His face became an ugly brick red, so great was his anger and vexation. He made an abrupt gesture that made Harry fold in on himself, fearing a slap.

"Don't be afraid, I'll not strike you," Severus hissed, "even though I'd dearly love to do it. I am not a violent man." He ran a hand through his black hair—a gesture that betrayed how lost he felt. Harry had hit the nail on the head. "You're right," Severus finally murmured. "I'm a hypocrite. I don't have the courage to live what I believe."

Harry was literally stunned by this admission he hadn't expected. "Master…."

"Listen to me. For once, let your confessor speak," Severus scoffed, not without bitterness. "It's true, I've shown myself as deceitful. I don't honor my monastic commitment. I'm a vile sinner, and I admit it."

He glanced at Harry, then murmured even lower, "And you don't know how much…. Anyway, I don't do evil for the sake of evil, as Lucius does. You haven't the slightest trust in me, and I've done nothing to deserve it—this is what you believe, isn't it?

"I won't disagree with you on that notion. But I implore you to do what I've told you on this matter: for your own good, you must forget what happened."

Harry, shaken in spite of himself, said bitterly, "For my own good, or because of your schemes with Lucius? In any case, it's too late. I've told Count Cornelius everything, and I'm hopeful he'll select a different Abbott."

Unable to bear Severus' intense expression, Harry turned away. As he started back to the refectory, Severus stopped him again. Harry was seized roughly by the arm. The harsh voice sounded just at his ear.

"One more thing, you presumptuous idiot. From now on, do not allow yourself to be caught alone with Lucius, for any reason at all. Even if he orders you to do so. Keep close to your friends, and avoid being alone. Obey this at least!"

Severus released him just as roughly and disappeared with a rustling of robes.

***

The conversation deeply troubled Harry. He held fast to the fact that he'd done well to follow his conscience, but he feared he'd done something impulsive that would now be turned against him. He followed Severus' advice (or order) that he avoid being alone. Despite that, his anxiety once again disturbed his sleep. He awoke with a start, sweating and trembling, biting his hand to hold back his cries of terror. This couldn't go on.

When the sun came up, Harry resigned himself to a trip to the infirmary. He was reluctant to bother Brother Remus, but he desperately needed a cure for his agitated nights. 

In the main room, Neville, who was grinding herbs in a mortar, gave him a big smile.  
"Do you feel better today?"

"Yes, thanks. I'm sorry I woke everyone. I didn't do it on purpose."

"I know that."

Harry envied Neville. As an adolescent, he'd been excessively shy, all thumbs when it came to manual labor. Severus had shaken him soundly at the time. Then Brother Remus had taken him under his wing, and Neville had blossomed incredibly, preparing remedies and caring for the medicinal plants. From there on out, he was sure of himself, happy to have found his place in the world.

This was a sentiment that Harry realized was foreign to himself.

Remus came in from the garden where he was harvesting his plants. "Hello, Harry." He examined the novice with a friendly yet piercing gaze, sizing him up. "Everything all right?"

Remus knew better than anyone the difficulties that Harry faced each day; he was the boy's only confidant. Still, even Remus was far from knowing all there was to know about him. Harry carefully kept his secrets locked deep in his heart, especially the complicated and frightening thoughts that Severus evoked in him….

"I'm fine," the young man reassured him. "Just a bit tired."

Remus leant closer to study his face. "You don't look well. Still having nightmares?"

"No," Harry replied.

"Yes," Neville contradicted him.

Harry flashed him a disapproving look.

"Come in so I can examine you," Remus said, his lips pursed. "Neville will prepare the passion flower while he waits for us."

Half-irritated, half-resigned, Harry followed Remus into the infirmary dormitory. All the beds were empty. Remus gestured for Harry to sit on one of them, then took his wrist to check his pulse.

"Too rapid," he said right away. "Are you short of breath? Backache?"

"No, you always ask me the same things, Brother Remus. What are you looking for?"

"I wonder if you have a heart problem. That would explain some of your problems."

Harry smiled humorlessly. "My heart is fine. The muscle part, at least."

"Even if you actually had trouble with it, you wouldn't know it," Remus replied, seeming to not pick up the hint. "A heart that doesn't function correctly isn't just the privilege of the aged."

"In that regard, how's Albus?"

"He's resting. Don't change the subject."

Remus listened to his breathing, his ear pressed to Harry's back, looked at the whites of his eyes, palpating his throat and chest. At last, he sat next to him.

"No detectable signs, as usual."

"I'm not sick, Remus. I'm simply having nightmares…."

"I'm still convinced that your excessive nervousness is masking physical problems. But perhaps I have too much imagination."

Harry smiled at him warmly. "We all know how seriously you take your work. You don't want your flock to become sick. Still, you can't prevent everything, and sickness is a part of life."

"You sound like Albus, my boy. But there's a difference between those whose time has come and those who still have years ahead of them, if they're watched over properly. I've always found it alarming when a well-fed boy of your age has so little endurance and such feverishness."

"It's the way that I am—that's all," Harry retorted. "Didn't Father Albus also say that one has to accept one's weaknesses in order to make the most of them?"

"That saying tidies it all up for you, doesn't it? Tell me about your nightmares."

Harry made a vague gesture. "I don't remember much. I only know I'm surrounded by darkness, and that I'm terrified. I can sense an enemy presence. I want to run away, but I can't. Is it important?"

"Yes, it is. In general, we dream about what we dread, or we relive painful episodes of our lives. In your case, it's probably the latter."

Harry nodded. Remus knew about the murder of his parents. He'd listened sympathetically when Harry had confided in him. "So, these nightmares will never go away?" Harry asked in a small voice.

"I think they will. They'll become less frequent, and will end by disappearing. But in the meantime, you have to be at peace with yourself; you have to be sufficiently satisfied with your existence in order to forget the past, little by little."

Harry remained silent. He was neither happy nor satisfied with his life as it was; Remus knew that.

"You must accept your fate and make the most of it."

"You sound like Brother Severus."

"The Novice Master is a wise man."

"He thinks I'm a bad monk."

"Tell him you wouldn't make a good peasant either."

Harry laughed in spite of himself, while Remus scrutinized him again. "You said you have a heart problem?"

"I didn't say that."

"Yes, you did, when you said that only the muscle was fine. Don't think I didn't get the message, but it's my right to steer the conversation as I like. Are you sneaking out of the cloister to meet this girl?"

"Certainly not!"

"I hope not. It's an act of unusual stupidity."

Remus stood, and Harry followed suit.

"Are you going to give me a potion?"

They returned to the herbalist's room, where they came face to face with Lucius.

Harry was startled, then instinctively took a step backward. Lucius was startled as well. He moved away from the table. Remus went to stand near him.

"Excuse me, Prior." He pushed him firmly aside to take the phial of passion flower that Neville had prepared.

Lucius gave him a superior look. "I took cold," he said in a syrupy tone. "My throat is killing me, Brother Remus. Would you have one of your miracle cures for that?"

"Only our Lord can do miracles," Remus replied. "I can only treat using more ordinary remedies. Sore throat, you say? In that case, you should not talk, or give sermons."

Remus handed him a phial and a wooden spoon. Lucius took a dose and then left the room.

In his presence, Harry had felt his heart begin to beat faster and his hands become damp. Fortunately, Remus wasn't examining him just then, or he would've come to an alarming conclusion.

"I'm sure he stopped by to see how Albus is."

"How is he really doing?"

Remus' silence lengthened long enough for Harry to have time to feel his blood freeze, vein by vein. My God, no….

"He's sleeping," the herbalist finally said.

Harry gave him an incredulous look. 

"But I don't know if he'll wake up again. I know you're upset, Harry. Albus is old and tired. He wants to go peacefully, without even knowing it. I assure you it's a good way to die. When you're old enough to think about such things, you'll know how fortunate our dear Albus was."

Harry looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "How fortunate!? He could live years longer. He still has so much to do, monks to counsel, books to read, even silly things to dream about. How can you say it's all right not to know if he's going to die? Me, I think we have to know—make the best of his last moments, make his mind work while it still can." He started to shake, and had to take hold of the table. Remus took him by the arm.

"I know, you're too sensitive. Even the most natural things in life are complicated for you. Breathe, my child. Drink this."

Harry forced himself to hold back his tears and tried to push the phial of passion flower away. "I hate this potion! I'm asleep on my feet for hours after I take it."

"You're too anxious. Being calm won't hurt you."

What could he say to that? Harry ended by reluctantly obeying, so as to not vex Remus. He didn't complain about the bitter taste. Neville had probably allowed it to boil. But how important was this when compared to Albus' impending death?

Harry rejoined his friends to do his portion of manual labor. Despite the ripples of the past several days, the abbey had to continue on as if nothing had happened. It was at once both strange and comforting. Brother Severus glanced at him briefly. He didn't ask Harry if he felt able to work after his restless night. But he assigned him to the work of tying the hay bundles, a task much less physical than reaping.

At the end of the afternoon, Harry started to feel drowsy, brought on by Remus' calming draught. He was happy that the day was ending; he had trouble keeping his eyes open during prayers.

He curled up on his cot and was asleep the moment his head touched the mattress. He wasn't aware when he began to cry out, as he struggled and scratched at his face.

He wasn't aware, either, when the others rushed to his bedside, panic-stricken, and tried to awaken him. A few of them, terrified, held on to each other as they shivered.

Harry wasn’t aware when Severus seized him by the shoulders, calling to him by his Christian name in an anguished voice.

Nothing seemed to be able to pull him from this fit of madness.

***

Harry moaned as he slowly emerged from the darkness. Pain spread through his head, his chest, and over every inch of his skin. With a huge concerted effort, he managed to open his eyes, even though the daylight increased his discomfort. He was lying on a bed, wrapped up in a grayish sheet. There were other empty beds around him, and he realized he was in the infirmary dormitory.

He tried to gather his thoughts, but he couldn't remember a thing, other than having fallen asleep on his novice's pallet. He started to panic when he realized that he was fixed to the bed—arms and legs tied down with ropes.

All of a sudden, his childhood terrors resurfaced. His uncle had tied him up too many times for Harry to be able to bear this treatment.

"Let me up!" he screamed.

He began to twist and struggle violently. The tight ropes cut into his flesh.

"Stop fighting!" Remus' voice commanded. The herbalist brother came to bend over him, looking pale and worried. Even this friendly presence didn't calm Harry, still struggling frantically.

"Untie me! Untie me!"

Remus firmly placed his hands on Harry's shoulders to encourage him to stay calm, but it wasn't enough. Harry wasn't yet entirely lucid—he was blinded by panic. He almost hurt Remus as he tried to strike out.

"I was right to want him tied down. You see how dangerous he is."

Lucius walked to stand at the foot of the bed, looking down haughtily at Harry. 

Remus, obviously upset, replied, "It's being restrained that's agitating him. Give me a knife!"

"So you can free this demon? Certainly not."

Lucius seemed alarmed, as if what Remus wanted to do shocked him to the core.

Remus, trying to diffuse the situation, grumbled, "Let's not exaggerate things."

"You think I'm exaggerating? He had a fit of madness as if he were possessed. His friends are terrified. The abbey, for which I'm responsible, is in an uproar! Your affection for him is blinding you, Brother Remus."

On hearing the Prior, Harry had stopped struggling. He didn't understand. What fit of madness? What had happened?

Lucius turned majestically on heel and left. Harry looked at Remus, anguish in his eyes.

"Is it true? I had a mad fit?"

Remus consoled him, smoothing his forehead with his hand. "I wasn't there, so I can't say. From what I was told, you were rather violent. It was more than just a nightmare. You can talk to the other novices about it in a while, all right? Take a bit of soup."

Remus brought a bowl to his lips as he helped to tip his head up. Harry obediently drank it down. Not long after, he felt himself drifting off to sleep; Remus had drugged the soup. Harry didn't even have enough energy to reproach him for it. His last thought was that Remus hadn't untied the ropes.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Chapter Eight**

Harry slept for several hours. When he awakened, his eyelids were heavy and his tongue furry, and he didn't feel well-rested. His limbs as well as his thoughts seemed sluggish.

He blinked a few times, and as he became accustomed to his surroundings, he was greatly surprised to find Ron at his bedside. The redhead seemed more flabbergasted and disoriented than usual. "How are you, Harry?"

"Good. Really, I am."

"See, he's fine," Ron repeated as he turned quickly to Remus. "You can untie him now."

Remus did so this time. The ropes fell away, neatly cut. They left purple marks on Harry's skin. 

Ron seemed horrified. "My poor friend! Do they hurt much?"

"Mostly, I’m just numb."

Ron rubbed Harry's legs energetically. "I'm truly sorry, Harry. They had to tie you down to keep you from hurting yourself."

"I don't remember a thing," Harry admitted, more perplexed than ever. "What happened? Tell me, Ron."

His friend seemed paralyzed with embarrassment, and ended by answering, but kept his eyes lowered, as if he dreaded Harry's reaction. "You woke us up with your cries, but it wasn't one of your usual bad dreams. You were screaming as if someone were attacking you. We tried to wake you up, but you fought when anyone touched you. Severus shook you hard, and you hit him, trying to get away. Nothing helped. You pushed Severus away and then you doubled up on the floor."

Harry was ashen. What Ron was describing was a horrifying scene. And he'd struck Severus! He'd have to beg his forgiveness very soon, and pray that the Novice Master wasn't too furious with him. It was truly going to be difficult when he next met up with him.

"We had to call for reinforcements to carry you to the infirmary," Ron concluded, his voice miserable. "We were all so worried about you. You don't remember anything?"

"No. All I know is I fell asleep in the dormitory, then when I woke up here, the Prior wouldn't let Remus untie me."

The infirmary brother nodded to verify the truth of his recollection. "Lucius seemed afraid. More for the peace of his dear abbey than for Harry, though."

"What happened to me?" Harry wondered aloud, seeming lost. "What you're telling me…that's never happened to me before."

"It seemed to be an episode of what is known as the 'falling sickness'," Remus said slowly, trying to be diplomatic.

"Epilepsy?" Harry reacted immediately; he hadn't spent all that time in the library for nothing. "But I'm not an epileptic."

Faced with Remus' astonishment, Harry explained himself. "Father Albus authorized me to read the medical books. I mostly wanted to see the illustrations, but I also read the commentaries. That's how I know that epilepsy doesn't just appear from out of nowhere in someone my age."

"You're right," Remus conceded. "It's true that this attack could've been _caused_ by something…. Did you eat or drink anything out of the ordinary yesterday?"

"Nothing more ordinary than what the refectory brothers serve us," Ron grumbled. "To think the abbey chooses the least gifted among us to work in the kitchens!"

Harry smiled slightly, then suddenly exclaimed, "The calming draught!"

"Oh, come now. You've taken it many times before. The only things in it are harmless plants—" Remus stopped himself, and Harry's eyes widened. The same thing had occurred to both of them at the same time.

Remus went to the herbarium and returned with the bottle of passion flower. He unstoppered it and sniffed its contents, then poured it in a glass to examine it. "Difficult to say…." He put the glass to his lips.

"No!" Harry cried. "What if it was poisoned?"

"I'm only taking a sip," Remus replied calmly. He frowned. "The taste is different. It's faint, but there's a change."

"It had a burning taste to it, but I thought…."

"…that Neville had done it again, as usual. That's possible. I'll question him. The taste is familiar to me. I'll have to do an inventory of my herbs and see what my palate tells me. Perhaps someone added something to this potion. You know of any enemies, Harry?"

Harry hesitated, but Ron didn't.

"The Prior, of course!"

"Why the Prior?"

"He's everyone's enemy," Harry stammered evasively.

"Don't be an idiot," Ron shot at him, cheeks on fire. "Lucius made advances toward you, and you told Count Cornelius about it so he wouldn't be named Abbott. Now Lucius is getting his revenge!"

"Is this true, Harry?"

The young man nodded. Remus seemed both irritated and worried at once. "Lucius was standing near this bottle when we came in and surprised him," he recalled.

"It's him! It's him!" Ron said excitedly.

"Slow down. Even if it's true, it will be difficult to prove. Practically impossible."

Remus took up a book lying flat on the shelf and began to slowly leaf through the pages, thinking furiously. "This book lists many plants whose properties are not well-known in our country, because they come from afar. This is _The Great Herbarium of Shen Nong_. It's said it was written by a Chinese emperor more than a thousand years before the birth of our Lord. So, would you believe that this book was given as a gift to the abbey by Lucius when he entered as a novice? I know he is well-versed on the subject of plants. What could he've added to my potion to bring on a fit of madness? Or perhaps if we were to search in Dioscorides' _De Materia Medica_ …."

Remus got to his feet, grabbed another book and frantically searched through it. Ron and Harry were hanging on his every word, but then Remus set the book aside with a sigh. 

"Actually, there are too many possible answers. Salvia and hyssop can produce violent reactions when they're administrated in large amounts to a person prone to nervousness, which would be Harry's case. Cedar as well. Camphorated rosemary also causes seizures."

"Rosemary? But it's a harmless cooking herb," Ron said, astonished.

"The cooking expert has spoken," Remus mocked kindly. "You probably don't know that what's good for a man can also be harmful at the wrong dose or when mixed improperly. A remedy can easily become a poison. The Greeks used the same word for these two extremes: pharmacology."

Harry continued to be frightened. "Could it happen again?"

"No! I'm going to make sure that you take nothing that I haven't controlled from start to finish." Remus gave him a reassuring smile.

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Percy, the young assistant to the administrative brother. Ron turned away to hide a grimace. Percy, besides being strict of character, just happened to be Ron's blood brother. The Weasley family had been blessed (or cursed, depending on the point of view) by bringing seven children into the world. As was the custom with country squires who'd fallen on hard times, the eldest son, Charles, dedicated himself to the business of soldiering; the youngest, William, had a position as a secretary for trade. The other boys had entered Orders. It was the only honorable way for them to escape a life of penury. As for their only sister, she was still at home in the manor, awaiting a wealthy marriage.

While Frederick and George had chosen the preaching Order of the Franciscans, which allowed them to travel the world, both Percy and Ron had both entered the same Benedictine monastery. Ron didn't consider this an advantage, as he and his older brother did not get along. He shot Percy a look.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

"My duty, as usual. Mind your tongue or I'll report you to the Prior."

"What do you want, Percy?" Remus interjected.

Percy stiffened, drawing himself up importantly. "If Brother Harry is feeling better, he's expected at the chapter. Brother Prior requests his presence in order to discuss what happened last night."

Remus gestured ill-humoredly. "Lucius is in a hurry! Harry is resting. Besides, I don't see how a novice's nightmares concern the chapter."

"I'll forget what I've just heard," Percy retorted with a piercing look. "This time. Harry, unless you're at death's door, you will get up and come. That would be best for you. Brother Remus, your presence is required as well."

Percy turned on heel and quickly departed.

"My robe, please, Remus," Harry said as he held out a steady hand.

Ron seemed stunned. "I'm sure it's a trap. He's going to use your fit as an excuse to punish you or send you far away, something like that."

"I know how to defend myself," Harry stated firmly, "now that I suspect that Lucius is responsible for everything."

Remus was more hesitant. "I told you, I don't have an ounce of proof, just a suspicion."

"Doesn't matter. I know now what happened to me."

Still, deep down inside, Harry was on the verge of panic. He didn't want to be banished from the abbey. He didn't like his life here, but he'd be lost, alone, outside of the cloister. Without references, with no money or friends, what would become of him? He didn't know the rules of the frightening world outside the walls.

He got dressed, his legs barely supporting him, as he was still very weak. It was so typically like Lucius to want to kick him while he was down, but he wasn’t about to give up without a fight.

He'd present himself to the assembly of monks with his head held high.

***

The monks gathered together at the chapter to handle current affairs. The business of the day was generally so dull and uninteresting that many took advantage of the time to take a little nap, or used the slightest excuse to beg off.

Harry, like the other novices, didn't yet have the right to attend. But he knew perfectly well that a monk put in the hot seat during a meeting was in for a very bad time of it.

When Harry entered the chapter house, the voices fell silent as every head turned toward him. Very ill at ease, he walked toward the Abbott's chair, now occupied by Prior Lucius. When he met the malevolent eyes, he realized that he was dealing with the most relentless of enemies.

Lucius gestured for Harry to stand before him, right in the center of the benches where the monks were sitting. The silence lengthened. Harry thought to himself that his case had already been debated, well before he arrived, and his heart clenched in anguish.

"Have you returned to your senses?" the Prior began smoothly.

"Yes, Prior."

"Have you any memory of the events of last night?"

"No," Harry admitted, "but Ron told me about it."

"So, you realize the gravity of the facts?"

Harry's eyes widened in shock. The gravity of the facts? Disturbing the blessed sleep of respectable monks had certainly been annoying, but nothing more. That still didn't warrant a papal bull and a general council…unless Ron hadn't told him everything.

His surprise must've shown on his face. Lucius' lips thinned, then he thundered, "The situation is very grave, do not doubt it!"

The other monks seemed just as solemn, even horrified, as they stared at the novice. Harry was utterly amazed. "Because I had a bad dream?"

"No, Brother Harry, you did not have a bad dream. You suffered a fit of insanity, because you are possessed."

If Harry had had less self-control, he would've burst into hysterical laughter, a reaction that would've done him great harm. Fortunately, he was able to restrain himself.

He took a deep breath before he replied, "I had a nightmare. My friends will vouch that this happens to me often. I'm sorry if I frightened everyone."

"During your nightmares, do you usually scream like the damned?" Lucius asked. "Do you harm yourself, struggling with superhuman strength? You wounded Brother Severus, who surpasses you in height and weight!"

He gestured to his right. Harry turned his head and saw the Novice Master, seated a bit to the back, and thought he looked very gloomy. Indeed, a purplish bruise stood out on his cheekbone. Harry put a hand to his mouth in chagrin.

"I'm truly sorry, Master."

Severus made a dismissive gesture.

"Sorry!" Lucius repeated as he raised an eyebrow. "In all honesty, no one is accusing you of having a violent temper, Brother Harry. You weren't yourself last night. That much is clear to everyone. You were in the grip of a power stronger than yourself."

Shaken, Harry didn't know what to reply. If he denied having been possessed by an outside force, he would still be accused of committing violent acts against the brothers of his community. Which outcome would be worse for him? He couldn't bring himself to decide.

"I don't know what to say to you, Prior. I have only confused memories of last night. Was I possessed by an outside force…" As he hesitated, his voice trailing away, his eyes drifted to Severus, who imperceptibly shook his head. "I'm sure I wasn't," Harry finished. "Even if I don't remember everything, I was still conscious…" Severus shook his head again, without moving his lips. "What I mean," Harry added hastily, "is that I would've known if an evil spirit had tried to possess me. That didn't happen."

Severus nodded discreetly. Harry swallowed nervously.

"Were you conscious during your fit of insanity?" Lucius scoffed. "Did you knowingly attack your brothers?"

"In my dream, I was being attacked by…by I don't know who. I was defending myself. I was fighting with those I took to be the aggressors."

"You no longer knew the difference between your dreams and reality?"

Harry didn't understand where Lucius wanted to go with this. What was the point of this interrogation? He truly sensed a trap waiting for him, without knowing where.

"In a sense," he conceded carefully, as if he were walking on hot coals.

Lucius turned to Brother Walden, the self-proclaimed specialist on black magic rites and diabolical spells. "Isn't that one of the known symptoms?"

"Absolutely, Prior."

"One of the symptoms of what?" Harry shot back aggressively.

"A symptom of possession."

"Possession by what?" the novice insisted. "I don't understand what you mean."

Lucius was watching him calmly, but his eyes had a triumphant gleam to them that Harry recognized. He suddenly felt as if he were on the edge of a chasm. A drop of sweat trickled down his cheek.

"The Prior is clearly thinking of a demonic possession," Brother Walden intervened. "This would not be the first time in our blessed community's history, alas. The devil will stop at nothing, and will even strike within the House of God!"

The assembled monks shuddered in fear. Their belief in God had a twin: a belief in the devil. In their eyes, the two forces were inextricably linked; they did battle with each other every day, taking turns to reveal themselves.

Even at this moment, by reason of the Prior's words, they thought they felt the presence of evil all around them; they were terrified. Certain of them buried their faces in their hands, praying fervently for God to protect them. Others were casting horror-filled looks at Harry, as if they no longer saw a boy of eighteen, but an incarnation of Lucifer.

Harry became frightened as well. No, he didn't fear the devil. He was too young and too sure of his heart for that. He was firmly convinced that no demonic power of the otherworld had directed his actions at any time. But he understood that there very well was an evil force here, within these walls: it bore the face of Lucius.

Under the nervous strain and the absurdity of the situation, Harry almost broke into laughter again. This didn't escape the Prior's notice.

Lucius stood suddenly. "You're possessed by the devil, young man! This laughter you barely managed to restrain attests to the fact; only the devil dares to laugh at his own name."

Walden's face contorted, which made him show his teeth like a maddened dog. "There is but one solution to preserve the abbey from this curse, and save the soul of our poor Brother Harry: perform an expiatory exorcism!"

Harry didn't grasp the consequences of this proclamation. He turned toward Severus, looking so questioning and lost that he could've melted a heart of ice. The Novice Master, pale, and as if he were ashamed, didn't dare look him in the face.

Now Harry was seized with panic.


	9. Chapter Nine

**Chapter Nine**

An exorcism?

Even among the more experienced monks, there were those who didn't even know what that meant. But of one thing they were certain: invoking the devil was unpleasant and downright perilous. There was danger there—for Harry, for others, for everyone.

Harry regained his aplomb. "That's the most ridiculous thing I've heard in my entire life! I'm not possessed by the devil!"

"That's exactly the answer the demon would give," retorted Brother Walden.

"That's exactly the answer an innocent would give!" Harry shot back.

Lucius stood, drawing himself up to his full height. "If you're not possessed by a demon," he began slowly, "then you _are_ a demon. I can see no other explanation for your fit of madness."

"I'm not mad!"

"Then what are you, Harry Potter?"

Silence fell as Harry wrung his hands. He felt like a beast caught in a trap. He shot a distraught look at the Novice Master, who seemed impassive, but Harry saw his brow furrow. Severus was thinking furiously; for now, he didn't dare meet the novice's eyes.

Harry felt so lost and alone.

As if on the edge of a precipice, he knew that one wrong move could hurtle him into the abyss, just as a shrewd reflex could place him out of danger. He wouldn't let Lucius manipulate him; he would bravely face the peril.

"I know why you're doing all of this," Harry blustered. "Our brothers must know that I was witness to your perversion. I denounced you to Count Cornelius Fudge, and you'll do anything for revenge."

He'd truly intended for that to have an impact on Lucius. But once again, he'd underestimated the blackness of the man's character. The Prior was immune to guilt, to embarrassment, to having a bad conscience. Faced with Harry's naïveté, he simply laughed.

"My boy, we all see the demon at work in your absurd words. You're talking nonsense. You're trying to sully this monastery's highest authority, after God, of course. Be assured that I do not hold you responsible for your sordid accusations. It's the devil speaking with your mouth. Do not fear, my child, we are going to rid you of its presence."

"I'm not talking nonsense!" Harry cried out in fury. "I'm fully in control of what I'm saying! You tried to force me to commit a grave sin with you!"

Harry was inwardly hoping that others would raise their voices in support of him; he knew very well that he wasn't Lucius' only victim, that others, not only novices, had certainly been accosted in the same indecent manner. But no one stepped forward. Fear, or shame, was too strong….

"Why would I have done such a thing?" Lucius cynically inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Because I…" Harry trailed off. 

He couldn't do it; he didn't want to drag Ron's name into the affair. The trap was particularly tricky. But if he refused to implicate Ron, Harry could still apply to a higher authority to decide. "Call for Count Cornelius. He'll confirm that I accused you, well before I had 'my fit of madness,' as you call my simple nightmare."

"His Excellency the Count, whose benevolence and protection we all appreciate here, will certainly confirm that you told him these odious lies. To me, that proves the devil took possession of your soul much earlier than I feared. Your plan was truly cunning! You risked plunging our entire monastery into disgrace in the eyes of the Count; if he didn't furnish us with his moral and financial support, what would become of us, I ask you?"

Lucius made a sweeping gesture with his arms, calling the other monks as his witnesses. The men murmured their approval. Indeed, without the Count's support, the abbey would be reduced to misery, and its members would have to disperse into the world, an especial hell in and of itself for these men. They didn't dare intervene in this duel between Prior and novice. Harry could only guess their opinion by the way they were already looking at him, as if he were an enemy to be feared. His eyes ran over the group in horror. So, no one believed him?

It was then that Brother Remus stepped forward. Harry hadn't even seen him come in.

"I'd like to say something, if the Prior will permit me?"

"Certainly, my brother," Lucius replied courteously.

"Last night, I gave Brother Harry a potion to make sure he would sleep. I examined the bottle earlier today, and I can confirm that this potion was tampered with. I'm convinced that a harmful ingredient was added. That is what produced Brother Harry's strong reaction."

Harry, deeply relieved, shot him a grateful look. However, he didn't dare smile at him. He was still under the accusation of being possessed by the devil. He couldn't show his friendliness too openly for fear of causing serious trouble for his friends. It was fortunate that the other novices weren't attending the chapter and this unjust farce.

"So, you admit that he didn't have just simple nightmares, despite what Harry Potter has tried to make us believe?" Lucius asked as he stroked his chin.

Remus hesitated for a moment (which did not go unnoticed) before he agreed, "Harry didn't have a nightmare; he'd been poisoned."

"But by whom?"

Remus kept his silence. The consequences of a direct accusation must've occurred to him as well, in all its painful clarity, just as it had to Harry. Harry clenched his fists. He didn't want Remus to suffer because of him.

"You have nothing to say, Brother Remus?"

"Contrary to others, I am not a man who accuses without proof!"

Lucius turned toward his wretched partner, Walden. "Tell me, my brother, you whom I know are skillful at discerning the plots of demons. Doesn't the devil have the power to change the taste and even the odor of food he touches?"

"Absolutely, Prior. It's a known fact that the devil corrupts all that he touches, that a refined dish, tasted by him, becomes at once spoiled and rancid, and that the purist water becomes a putrid mud, at that—"

"Thank you, I understand. So, it would be logical that Brother Remus' potion, which was as perfect as all his other remedies, became contaminated when Harry drank some of it. That would explain the changes you've noted, Remus."

Harry understood then that the devil really _was_ present within those walls. He was a threat to the entire community; he was even craftier than the biblical passages described; he was of an unparalleled intelligence and persuasion. His name was Lucius.

Anger seethed inside Harry, more than anger, even—a devastating fury, mixed with an inner bitterness that had been festering inside him for a long time, surged through his veins and pushed up, up, upward until the volcano exploded.

"You're seriously sick, Lucius! You think only of power, of running this abbey just as you like, while scoffing at the religious rules when they don't suit you, not hesitating to crush others. I was supposed to be your entertainment for a night, and you couldn't bear it when the slave rebelled! I was supposed to grit my teeth and suffer in silence. And I finally denounced you, despite those who counseled me to hold my tongue!

"Everyone seems to believe that nothing should be revealed, that one should pretend and hide what they feel. Above all, don't make waves, because we're so protected here!

"Well, no. This fear of the world, this refusal to face proof, this isn't what God wants. He'd never want men to stay cloistered behind walls. It seems as if we're the best of believers, when we're actually the worst! We stay apart from God's other creatures instead of coming to their aid; we think only of our own safety, our comfort, and you, Lucius, you think only of the power you wield. You don't even believe in God—I'm sure of it! It's just another mask for you to hide behind while you satisfy your ambitions."

Harry gestured toward the assembly of monks who were staring at him in terror as they listened to his violent diatribe. "And the rest of you—you're grossly mistaken if you believe your selfish and cowardly actions are pleasing to God. You're in error, all of you!"

Harry took a deep breath, placed a hand over his racing heart, and then continued, "I know why no one in this room dares to speak on my behalf. You're all filled with fear. You're afraid of God, you're afraid of the devil, you're afraid of the outside world, you're afraid of everything and everyone! You're even afraid of me, because I'm different from you. No, I'm not possessed by the devil and you know it; it's an absurd idea that someone suggested just minutes ago. I'm different because I can't bear this life, where one does nothing and is needed by no one, where years pass and paralyze all hope, all desire and feeling. This life might be perfect for some, for those who chose and wanted it, but for those who've been shut up here by force? I believe in God, and I need the strength he gives me. But he never wanted me to lead this life; he didn't call me. I can't live in fear of going to Hell or of displeasing God. I want to be happy while living on this earth!"

Harry had to stop when his voice choked up. Once again, his fragile constitution failed him when he had so much more to say. Since his own brothers were betraying him, he wanted to cry out so they'd hear all that was in his heart. But they were in no condition to hear it, let alone understand….

"He blasphemes! He blasphemes!" shrieked Brother Argus. "Silence this demon!"

Rough hands like talons clutched at his arms and torso, their fingernails scratching his face as they tried to muzzle him. Harry defended himself, but he no longer had enough strength to fight off the attack. Bodies pressed in against him, radiating fear and hate, making it hard for him to breathe. He thought he was losing consciousness for an instant, and readied himself to gratefully welcome the darkness, but his assailants fell back, firmly pushed away by the man who'd shoved through. Harry looked up, his eyes crazed, and recognized Severus.

Severus didn't look him in the face, which Harry could understand. When he'd spat out his contempt for those who'd counseled him to maintain a hypocritical silence, he'd obviously been thinking of Severus. Harry'd been unfair, because Severus had tried to come to his aid during this painful chapter meeting. Harry tried to catch his attention, to lose himself in the man's eyes for a bit of comfort, but the Novice Master turned away.

"The demon possessing this young monk is particularly vicious," Lucius observed calmly. "We must take action before it destroys the divine work within the soul."

The Prior took a step forward, approaching Harry without fear, while the other monks had gradually moved away from him over the course of the meeting. "To calm the spirits of all our bothers who are upset, to banish the evil from within our walls, and lastly, to succor our unfortunate novice, prisoner of the demon, I declare that we must proceed to the exorcism without delay."

The brothers showed their approval by vigorously nodding their heads.

Harry was devastated. He'd tried his best, he'd resisted as much as he'd been able, he'd defended himself passionately, and he'd lost.

And he still didn't know what fate had in store for him.

Lucius was already turning to Walden. "My brother, do you think yourself capable of conducting this ritual?"

"Oh yes, Prior!" He seemed to take great delight in the prospect, like a child who's been promised a toy. He'd not exercised his talents in a very long time, and he was almost hopping up and down with impatience. Faced with Harry's terror, he took pleasure in making an explanation. "We're going to make the devil's stay in your body too painful for him to carry on, Brother Harry. First, to set the stage we're going to submerge you in holy water. Then the torment of fire and red-hot iron will force it to reveal its presence to the light of day, by the inhuman screams that will come from your mouth. You'll see that this alone will afford you some relief. We'll then manipulate your limbs, sometimes stretching, sometimes compressing, to pinpoint his presence in each part of your body. The demon will thus be very anxious to leave. In general, it lets this clearly be known by its screams and begging. But we'll take no pity on it. It will leave, I promise you. You will be rid of it, my brother."

Harry managed the strength—he didn’t know how—to smile. "And after all of these festivities, what condition do you think I'll be in?"

Walden didn't possess Lucius' refined perversity. He truly thought he was working for Harry's good. "I don't know, my brother. At the few exorcisms I've had the joy to attend, the unfortunate victims had been so terribly weakened by the demon's presence in his body, that none of them had the strength to awaken afterwards. But you—you are young. And you will be able to thank us for restoring a pure soul to you."

Harry was torn between sobbing outright and laughing hysterically. "You're insane!" he managed to get out with difficulty. "Never would I allow you…I refuse to submit to this torture. I won't—"

"It's for your own good," Lucius retorted, both honey and venom in his voice.

He gestured to Walden, whose iron-like arms seized Harry to drag him from the room.

"No! Never!"

Harry fought, struggling violently. Other arms joined in to help Walden, dragging Harry forcefully toward the door. Chapter was over.

"Wait."

The order was not shouted, but still it seemed to carry, to rule over the monks' uproar and Harry's desperate cries.

"What now, Severus?" the Prior demanded impatiently.

"Far be it from me to cast doubt on Brother Walden's abilities, whose enthusiasm for exorcism is well-known. However, I believe it preferable to turn to the exorcist priest from the diocese. He's more up to date on the varied and bizarre forms the demon takes to afflict us. He will know how to most effectively apply the adequate measures. And what's more, he does not know our young novice and will not be inclined to indulge him."

Walden's face fell. Lucius narrowed his eyes in calculation. "But what would we do with Harry while we await his arrival? We cannot allow such a threat to dwell in our midst as if it were nothing…."

Severus shrugged with disdain. "Lock him up in the disciplinary cells. Solitude displeases the demon, as he is not able to exercise his bad influence."

"But of course," Lucius agreed solemnly. "A few days of prayer will better prepare you for this trial, Brother Harry. You will have time to reflect on the consequences of your actions…that is to say, upon the great peril of your possession, and the great fortune you have to be in your brothers' good hands. Go."

Harry was led away. Walden's lips were quivering. Severus calmly pulled his black robes in around his shoulders and took his turn to step onto the courtyard walkway. At that very moment, Remus was in front of him, and pushed him backward suddenly. The healer's eyes flashed with fury and his mouth twisted like a snarling animal.

"You monster! How could you dare do such a thing and claim to serve God?! You're no better than Lucius! You're the dregs of the Order!"

Remus was on the verge of exploding, flexing his hands so his long fingernails threatened. 

Severus eyed him from head to toe, inscrutable. "Calm yourself, Remus. You look like a wolf about to bite."

The Novice Master left without a backward glance.

***

A monk's room, when he wasn't sleeping in a dormitory, was called a cell. Harry looked at the four gray walls imprisoning him and was struck by the irony of the situation. For the first time in his life, he had his own room; he could let go and dream to his heart's content. He could meditate on his sad destiny, remember the good times filled with friends and laughter, even let the tears flow without fear of discovery.

Paradoxically, he preferred to dwell on his bitterness and distress. Cruelly desperate emotions, but he had to allow himself this satisfaction so he didn't have so much regret…regret over the life that would certainly be taken from him.

It did Harry little good that he was not familiar with the ritual of satanic expulsion—he understood perfectly that he'd not come out of it unharmed…if he survived at all. Even if he did, what sort of life would it be? A life of madness, as a paralytic, like an old man. Perhaps it would even be preferable to not survive the exorcism; better that the 'purification' take him away from this place, once and for all.

Harry was terrified. He couldn’t imagine the degree of suffering he'd been promised. Water torture, flame and metal were supposed to pull the demon from him. And if he succumbed, the crackling fire would reduce his body to ashes.

He couldn't pray. He found no solace in thoughts of God, or of heaven, or in the immortality of the soul. He could think of nothing but the pain and the burning sensation he'd endure before it all came to an end. He wished it was all over with, consummated, consumed, that a merciful soul would have the compassion to kill him quickly without pausing to feast on his screams.

The cell door creaked and swung open. Harry lifted his crazed eyes. Was it already time?

The Novice Master entered, his face shuttered as he quickly pushed his cloak to the side. 

Harry held back a sob. Why did it have to be him, sent to deliver Harry to his executioner?


	10. Chapter Ten

**Chapter Ten**

As Severus entered the cell, Harry swallowed with difficulty. "They're expecting me for the exorcism?"

"Not yet," Severus replied brusquely. "We're still waiting for the diocesan exorcist."

Harry shuddered. He'd been locked away for several days, and he'd practically lost all sense of time. It seemed as if he'd been there a long time, in the filth and the darkness, turning his desperate thoughts over in his mind.

"It's time for confession," Severus stated.

Harry was surprised, then realized: the condemned's confession before the Sacrament of Extreme Unction. The Prior was putting his life in danger, but was watching over the salvation of his soul. The boy started to laugh and was unable to stop, a nervous, strident sound that hurt his own ears.

"You're truly the only one enjoying the situation," Severus grumbled.

With a disgusted look at the dirty floor, slimy and wet, Severus knelt in front of Harry, who lay prostrate on the ground, and made the sign of the cross over him. Harry gathered all his strength to proudly lift his head.

"I don't want any part of that, not now. What's the use of pretending?"

"Do not blaspheme. It won't change a thing and dishonors your intelligence."

"You always said I didn't have any intelligence."

"To speak so foolishly in front of the chapter did not demonstrate the subtlest of wits."

"I said what I thought was right, from the bottom of my heart. I was sincere."

"I know. So, the words you spoke there will take the place of your confession, then."

Harry was startled by this reaction. If he didn't require his confession, then what was the Novice Master doing there? Come to gloat over him and his misfortune? Or to laugh at him? But Harry couldn't, nor did he want, to be angry, or burden the man with his reproaches. _This is probably the last time I'll see him_ , he thought, and then he suddenly felt so distressed that he believed his torture had already begun.

"How's Albus?" he asked, trying to think of the fate of others instead of his own.

"It's odd to see you thinking of him at such a time."

"He was always so good to me. I want to remember that while I still can. I know that soon I won't be able to think coherently. In not too long, I'll hurt so badly…. I won't be thinking about good men anymore; I’ll curse my mother for having brought me into the world, and I'll curse the Prior, the Count, the whole world and everyone in it."

The young man lowered his head. He expected Severus to scathingly reproach him: cursing was an action unworthy of a Christian. As death drew nearer, he had to repent of his sins and commend his soul to God. 

But the Novice Master kept his tongue. He seemed to be looking at Harry as if he were seeing him for the very first time.

"I owe you my thanks," Harry continued, his throat constricted, determined to keep nothing hidden in his heart before he left this world. "You tried to help me that day in the chapter."

"But you were determined to make a scene instead of proceeding cautiously. You're simply not capable of keeping your head."

His words echoed of resignation, sadness, and almost intimacy. Harry was deeply moved. He wanted to believe that Severus—this stern, inflexible man who'd captured his soul in spite of himself—would miss him. He was certainly deluding himself with illusions; however, the time to talk was now or never, to admit it all for the first and last time.

"I wanted to tell you too…"

He was interrupted by a loud banging at the door.

"Time for confession is over, Brother Severus. Don't be late."

Brother Argus, the caretaker, had been watching vigilantly over his prisoner. Harry jumped, startled. His real confession hadn't even begun yet. Despairing, he watched as Severus slowly got up.

"One might say that dear Argus has indeed missed his true calling as a jailer," sneered the Novice Master.

How could he be ironic at a time like this? Cruelly hurt, Harry didn't take his eyes off him as he headed for the cell door.

So, the man was going to leave him, so coldly, without even a word of comfort. He'd only just passed by to see the careless novice, just as he'd passed him by all his life.

Severus, however, glancing after the traitorous jailer who'd moved away, returned to Harry and crouched down at eye-level. "We have very little time. Listen to me, Harry…."

"I know. Now _you_ listen to me. I love you."

Severus quickly placed his finger against the boy's lips. His eyes, though, widened in shock at the admission. Harry pulled away from the contact.

"I had to say it, at least once. I know I'm a criminal, and an impure being. At least now there are some bad things to exorcise…."

Severus still seemed to be recovering from surprise. Finally, he shook his head. "Filthy brat," he murmured, and an amused, almost incredulous smile split his face.

The expression warmed Harry's heat; his youthful face seemed to glow, his green eyes sparkling once again. But Severus' gentle reaction lasted but a moment. The man frowned and bent over him, gripping him by the shoulders.

"In an hour, you will open your cell door. In an hour, not before. You will cross the courtyard. You will not attempt to raise the portcullis—it's padlocked. You'll go out through the trapdoor where the dirty water empties. You'll flee into the countryside without looking back. Do you understand?" He shook him as if to drive home his fervent instructions.

Harry stammered, "But how can I open the cell door?"

Severus closed Harry's fingers around cold, rough metal: a key. "A gift from your novitiate friends."

"But it's broad daylight," Harry objected again. "Argus will see me! Everyone will see me!"

"No, no one will see you," Severus replied mysteriously. "Another thing. I know that your natural foolhardiness will propel you to make some sort of spectacle out of your departure. So I beg you to restrain yourself. Discretion is the better part of valor for men like us."

This time Argus opened the door with a bang and barked, "Brother Severus! You've stayed long enough!"

Ostentatiously, the Novice Master traced a cross on the dumbfounded boy's forehead. " _Ego te absolve_."

Harry should've lowered his eyes while receiving the Sacrament, but he couldn't help but stare at Severus intently, as hope was reborn within in him. The man got up, dusting off his robes; Harry did the same—he who'd believed to never stand on two legs again—and walked to the door with him. Argus gave him a spiteful look before doing an about-face; his shuffling steps could be heard in the corridor. 

Harry became bold, and quickly took Severus' hand and brought it up to his lips. "Thank you."

The black eyes narrowed, then sparked suddenly with passion. Severus leant down towards Harry and captured his mouth in a possessive kiss. Harry barely had time to be filled with wonder before Severus pulled away and disappeared with an elegant pivot in black.

The young monk remained frozen to the spot, his heart about to beat out of his chest, almost unable to breathe. Severus had kissed him. Not like a brother, not like a father, not like a confessor, but like a lover. That contact, as brief as it'd been, had made him _feel_ a thousand times more than the Prior's sordid fondling had. Harry was sure and certain, from the depths of his soul, that he was in love. It wasn't a folly of his imagination.

And this kiss was not the end of it. Severus had opened the way out for him, in a literal sense. He was saving him, body and soul.

_Discretion is the better part of valor for men like us_.

Harry had first thought that Severus was referring to their monastic situation. Now he realized his mistake. Men like them, attracted to an unnatural sin of the flesh, and yet much less sinners, compared to so many others.

In an hour, he'd be outside of the cloister. If it was God's will, all would go well. Just the thought delighted Harry, almost dazed him. He was escaping an almost certain death, but also the dull existence to which he was so poorly suited. At the same time, a vague anxiety swept over him: he knew nothing of the outside world. From behind these walls, England was as much terra incognito as the far borders of Persia. He'd have to survive in that world, alone. For the first time in his life.

In an hour….

***

Harry turned the key. He'd been holding it in his damp palm for an hour, as he counted off each second; he was ready. 

The grating of the lock and creaking of the hinges terrified him, but he was the only one who heard them. There wasn't a living soul besides him in the place.

At the moment when he stepped out onto the courtyard, the church bell could be heard. Even though familiar, he was so jittery that the sound made him jump. He automatically counted the strokes as he waited, in order to know which Office was about to be said. The strokes went on endlessly, and Harry blanched as he recognized the knell: the tolling for the dead.

As his blood ran cold, he looked at the deserted esplanade, the silent buildings, and understood why Severus had been so certain that no one would see him. All the brothers would be gathered in the church for the funeral ceremony.

All that remained was to know who….

And there was only one painfully obvious answer.

The cloister buildings and square courtyard seemed to be waiting for him, as if Harry were the only occupant. It was a miraculous opportunity, but Harry's heart hurt to know that his mentor's death had supplied it for him. Reason bade him flee, without asking for particulars. He ran for the way out, trying to be as quiet as he could.

However, as he passed close to the church, he heard murmuring that quickly became loud voices, shouting that wasn't a recitation of psalms.

What was happening in the church? What could disrupt them in the middle of their meditation of the deceased?

Curiosity won out. Harry pulled his hood over his head and slipped close to the sacristy door, then pushed it slightly open.

All the monks were indeed there, their exclamations blending into a menacing buzz. Harry heard Lucius repeatedly calling for silence, his voice becoming sharper and sharper. He could hardly be heard, but the uproar quieted enough for Harry to hear him rage.

"Brother Severus, how dare you disrupt our farewell ceremony for Albus, for whom we all grieve!"

Severus' sarcastic laugh rang out like a sacrilege. "Enough of your song and dance, Lucius! While everyone regrets Albus' passing, so good and pious he was, we know perfectly well that you rejoice at his demise, which makes you the master here!"

The hum of voices began again, clearly in approval. Stunned, Harry couldn't bear not to see this extraordinary event: someone was standing up to Lucius, and it was none other than the person for whom Harry cared so very much. He crept forward on tiptoes.

Lucius, thrown off balance but by no means knocked from his feet, raised his voice once again. "You've lost your mind! I cannot otherwise explain your unspeakable accusation! The devil speaks through your mouth!"

"Is that your explanation for everything, Brother Prior?" Severus asked ironically, his confidence growing.

From where he stood, Harry couldn't see him. He resisted the dangerous temptation to move even closer, and contented himself with just imagining how Severus must look: righteous, stern and imperious.

"Believe me, I am fully aware and responsible for my words, as also was that poor boy whom you condemned to the worst of tortures, as your revenge for his honesty. Harry is a victim of your sordid scheming, as others before him have been for years, but none of them had his courage. Any man endowed with half the intelligence that God bestows on an ass believes what I've just said to you, as well as what I'm about to say with great pleasure: you are as far from the gospel message as is humanly possible. You think only of the power you have over others. You respect none of the gentle values of Christianity: brotherly love, humility, forgiveness, and kindness toward strangers, in both word and deed. You dishonor the Benedictine habit you wear."

Once again, there was a great uproar amongst the brothers. Harry pressed his fist against his mouth to hold back his cry of surprise and joy. He was overflowing with happiness, to hear what he himself had dreamt of throwing in Lucius' face. And it seemed to him that most of the monks were of the same opinion: the shouting wasn't hostile, as it had been when they'd attacked Harry several days ago. He was sorry he couldn’t see the Prior's face just then. He enjoyed picturing Lucius flushed with fury, incapable of answering, having lost his confidence.

He was probably not far off the mark, because Severus began to speak again after having been interrupted.

"The religious faith you claim to embody disgusts me. It rests on the appearance of virtue, not the reality of it. You are corrupt, rotten to the core. You dare claim to be a shepherd for the brothers here! You dare claim to be able to judge your peers, to decree who is a heretic or who is not, who is possessed or who is not. Your cunning maneuvers, your unscrupulous and devious schemes, your appetite for power, it discredits you in everyone's eyes!'

"Enough! Enough!" Lucius shrieked. "You go too far…you are…you dare! You dare to defy me, Severus! That will not go unpunished!"

His voice was drowned out by an incredible uproar. It seemed that a veritable spirit of rebellion was sweeping through the assembly of monks. Harry couldn't hold back a smile. Severus had told Harry not to make a scene, but hadn't followed his own advice.

Lucius was certainly itching to condemn the Novice Master to the whip, not to mention a more lasting punishment. But as the moments passed, he didn't dare. His position as Prior of the abbey was hanging by a thread in this mutinous atmosphere. He knew it and he wasn't stupid. He waited for a few minutes, for the cacophony of voices to subside, then addressed Severus in a gentler tone.

"Severus, dear brother, you are troubled. I understand completely. We've all been in shock since Albus' death. The abbey's been shaken by the serious events of the past several days, which inclines me to be indulgent. I will consider how to bring all our lost sheep back to us."

Harry heard Severus' mocking laugh, then the astonished murmuring of the monks, and understood that the rebellion would end there. If Lucius had condemned Severus, immediately and harshly, he would've lost all authority, but his apparent indulgence had calmed the opposition, at least for the moment. Another masterful stroke. 

Harry would've liked to have heard more, to know what was to become of Severus, but the risk was too great. He'd already lingered too long. He had to leave.

The open trap door was off to his left; the thick walls no longer held him in; he was finally outside. It was so easy it was laughable, a nose-thumb at his suffering. He found himself outside for the first time since his eleventh birthday. He walked as quickly as he could, away from the abbey and the village. Liberty, freedom to choose—and life, at that moment, took the form of a dusty dirt road, the wind in his hair, and the forest looming closer.

Still, he didn't feel happy. The thought of Severus in Lucius' hands because of him made him sick with worry. He knew that Severus had wanted to create a diversion to make certain no one would witness his escape. So to this end, he'd deliberately provoked the scandal at Albus' funeral, challenging the Prior in front of the entire community. Harry wondered what Albus would've thought of the flagrant mark of disrespect, and ended by deciding that he wouldn't think it important. Albus had been his friend and had he been able, he would've helped him flee the exorcism. Harry hoped that Albus' soul, wherever it was, would forgive him and the Novice Master.

He walked quickly, often turning around, fearing the slightest noise. He was terrified that Lucius would send the Count's soldiers after him. Perhaps he was wrong; maybe Lucius wouldn't give a fig about his departure. But he didn't want to take unnecessary risks, so he quickly left the footpath and headed into the woods. He'd read that one could find his way by the position of the sun, moss and leaves. 

He then learned that knowledge and experience were indeed two different things: not long after, he'd become lost, unable to even say from which direction he'd come. He angrily clenched his fists: what a fine free man he made.

The outside world of which he'd so dreamed was losing its pretty gold and green colors, becoming dark and frightening. Night was falling, the temperature as well. Harry was alone, lost, and afraid. Given the circumstances of his escape, he would never be returning to the abbey. He thought to himself that if he'd left impulsively for no good reason, he'd probably turn around and retrace his steps, beat on the door and beg to be let back in…on the condition that he could find the road again, obviously. He understood how strange the world could seem when one had left it so long ago.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear the sound of galloping, and jumped when he suddenly heard the whinnying behind him. Panicked, he glanced around, then slipped behind a tree. He half-buried himself in dead leaves, pulling up his hood and prayed that the horseman couldn't see him.

He was aware that the horse had stopped, snorting. 

Not a sound. Then….

"I knew I would find you, Brother Harry!" said a man's voice.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Chapter Eleven**

Chilled to the bone, Harry slowly stood up. His eyes drifted down to the horse's feet as it pawed at the ground just a few inches away, then looked up to the horseman's shoes and his blue tunic. He stared at his face; he didn't know him.

He was very surprised that this man whom he'd never seen before had called him by his given name. Then he noticed that the horseman bore the crest of Count Cornelius. Harry backed away in fear.

Certainly, the last time he'd seen the Count, the man had seemed to want to remove Lucius from his position in charge of the abbey. But since then, Harry'd been accused of demonic possession, condemned to an exorcism, and to top it all off, he was now a fugitive. If the Count considered him a dangerous madman, it would be more than understandable.

However, the horseman was looking at Harry with a kind smile. "Brother Harry, I've been sent by the Countess. Dame Minerva wishes to meet with you immediately. Would you be so kind as to come with me?"

"The Countess?" Harry repeated, still distrustful.

"Yes, my brother. She heard that you were fleeing, and wanted to find you at all costs. She asked me to reassure you that she is not your enemy. In remembrance of your conversation in the library, she begs you to trust her."

The words were comforting, but perhaps deceitful. Harry pierced the man with a sharp look, as if hoping to read his mind. How could he be certain that this wasn't a trap?

There was no way to know for sure. The horseman was tall, big and impressive, but had a pleasing demeanor. Harry decided to give the man his trust without any further reassurances. 

The horseman held out his hand to the young monk and hoisted him up to ride behind him. Awkward in his robes, not acquainted with horses, Harry held on to him.

"What's your name?" he asked, thinking he couldn't embrace practically a total stranger.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt."

Harry jumped in surprise: the Bailiff Shacklebolt? How could he trust the one who dispensed justice in the name of the Count? But the bailiff had just claimed to serve the Countess more than her husband. So Harry decided to stay put.

The horse took off at a gallop, Harry holding on for dear life, so as not to be unseated.

He was very aware that he was playing a dangerous game. If Shacklebolt had lied to him, and turned him over to the Count…or worse, took him back to the abbey, he was lost. He wouldn't have a second chance. Severus would've put himself in danger for nothing.

On the other hand, what choice did he have? He wouldn't have been able to flee through the woods, chased by a horse. It was just as ridiculous as it was unrealistic. He'd have to trust him. If he wanted to start a new life outside of the cloister, he had to learn how to form relationships with others.

The closer the horse got to the village, the more Harry's anxiety grew. The horseman wasn't really thinking of riding him straight down the middle of the street, was he? Or taking him to the Count's castle? This was madness, he had to save himself, jump down from the mount and run as fast as his legs could carry him.

The horse took a turn as they came upon some houses, and trotted along a wooded lane that led to an old building with faded paint. Kingsley stopped his mount and signaled for Harry to get down. After he slid carefully to the ground, Kingsley pointed to the house.

"There it is. Go in, Brother Harry."

Only his honest face convinced Harry to do as he said. But he hesitated before walking to the door and pushing it open.

Kingsley Shacklebolt hadn't lied. Minerva was truly there. Wrapped in her dark robes, wearing an unadorned hennin that covered her head to the very last hair, she was nervously pacing up and down along the bare walls of the room. Her face brightened at the sight of Harry. She held out her hand to him.

"My child."

Her voice was so kind, her gesture so affectionate, that Harry felt tears well up in his eyes. She noticed, and pulled the boy toward her for a more motherly contact, albeit brief. Then she became her reserved self again, but from that time forward, Harry knew she was capable of warmth, and that made him feel good.

"I was at the abbey this morning to attend your Abbot's funeral," she declared, "and I was witness to your brother's audacious speech…the Novice Master."

On hearing that single sentence, Harry wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. He contented himself with a nod, thinking that she too had heard Severus' hard words, and wondered what she thought of them.

"And I was also there when they announced your disappearance."

"The brothers were all gathered in the church, even the one guarding me. I took advantage of the funeral to get away. I'm not proud of it. I would've liked to see Albus one last time. I would've even liked to remain at the abbey. But Lucius made that impossible."

"I know of what he accuses you. It's absolutely ludicrous. I repeatedly told my husband as much, but he has an almost heathen fear of the devil and his works. He refused to help you."

"Everyone refused to help me," Harry retorted bitterly. "Except my closest friends. The community that was supposed to be my family condemned me. I no longer have a future here. I don't know why you were looking for me, Madam, but I beg you: let me go. If I'm ever recognized in the village, they'll take me to Lucius!"

As Minerva listened, she seemed serious, but also a bit surprised. "Running away was the worst of solutions, Harry. You told me you'd spent most of your life at the abbey. What hope do you have of surviving outside of it, all alone? This world is not as easy as the one you're used to."

"Don’t think that life in the abbey is a paradise; I assure you that's not true."

"I believe you. But you must keep in mind that the abbey keeps you safe and fed. That's already much more than most of the laity possess. You know this in the abstract. But you don't know how to provide for your daily existence. I'm very worried about you, and that's why I asked my faithful Kingsley to find you."

"You're not taking me back to the abbey?"

"No, I understand that you have a formidable enemy in the new Abbott. What a waste. Albus was so very different. He was one of my dearest friends, did you know?"

The Countess and Harry exchanged a look full of nostalgia. Albus was leaving a great void. Feeling understood in his grief, the young monk felt serene again.

"But I don't think you should take off with your tail between your legs," Minerva continued. "Here's what I suggest: I have cordial relations with the Abbott of a monastery in Cornwall. On my recommendation, he'll accept you into his community, without asking any questions. This monastery is very active in manuscript copying and in spreading knowledge to other lands. You could use your talents there. Think carefully, Harry. You have everything to gain by simply changing cloisters."

Harry was silent for several moments, thinking furiously. It was true that the proposition was tempting; he'd keep the advantages of the cloister, his artistic projects, and he'd have the comfort of a world with which he was familiar. Part of him was immensely relieved and wanted to gratefully accept.

But another part of him protested. The cloister had had enough of him, thank you. He had this unbelievable chance to discover something different, to see it with his own eyes, this outside world that was said to be monstrous, but where the great scholars and artists he admired had lived. That world couldn't be as monstrous as all that….

He shook his head slowly, but resolutely. "No, Madam, I'm very touched, and I thank you very much, but I don't want to reenter a monastery. I want to live on the outside; I want to be free, I want to know what that means."

Minerva smiled, not seeming the slightest bit disappointed. "That's the answer I feared, and yet, I'm not surprised. Right away, I sensed an energy, an optimism, that wouldn't tolerate being deprived of freedom very well. I understand you perfectly, Brother Harry. Just Harry, now. May you be happy in the life you've chosen."

"That I will!"

His bravado made both of them laugh, then Harry remembered those he was leaving behind. So, Lucius would be Abbott, there was nothing to be done about it. The Countess had made Harry understand that her husband still placed his trust in the man; he'd be disappointed, one day or another, Harry'd wager on it. What would become of the abbey under Lucius' direction? How would he treat the men confided to his care?

"Madam, do you know what's become of the Novice Master? He took a great risk in defending me."

"He's to be sentenced to a severe penance, according to what I've heard. Banishment and isolation. But I don't know exactly where."

"Hmmm, I think I know," Harry said slowly. He took the Countess' hand and bowed. "Thank you for everything. You've been very kind to me."

"Don’t go just yet. First, something must be done about that…."

She gestured toward Harry, who frowned, disconcerted.

***

It was a grouping of mud-thatched houses, so decrepit that the roofs were more gray than yellow. They were a few leagues from the abbey, isolated from the rest of the world by the sweltering heat of the forest and the absence of a road. No one went there gladly. Not the monks forced to provide medical care—generally in penance and not by choice—nor the lepers condemned to be ostracized by the disease.

The leprosarium did not have a live-in doctor. Only Remus went there regularly, and he did what he could for the unfortunates who were passing through. It was such a miserable place that no one stayed to live there. Remus, and the monks who occasionally came to help him, mostly just fed them, powerless as they were to treat the disease.

As Harry drew nearer to the leprosarium, he felt his heart beat faster. Such a dreaded place, and he was going there willingly. He didn't even fear the contagion; he was terrified by a much more dreadful prospect…

Two silhouettes were seated in front of a thatched cottage, warming themselves around a campfire. They looked up when they heard Harry approach, verifying that the newly arrived had a young, unmarred face, then hid themselves again under their hoods. However, Harry had time enough to catch a glimpse of their leprosy-ravaged features. Compassion knotted in his chest.

Before he could say a word, a Benedictine monk appeared at the door to the cottage. "I'm bringing the cooking pot!" Despite the noticeable suffering in this place, he'd managed to keep his voice joyful and energetic.

Stunned, Harry recognized Ron's red hair. "But what're you doing here?" he asked.

Stricken, Ron almost dropped the cooking pot on his feet. "You gave me such a fright! You were the last person I expected. But what are _you_ doing here? I thought you'd be far away by now."

Harry smiled happily at Ron's familiar face, his big astonished eyes, and his talkativeness. He'd thought he'd never see him again. Their unexpected meeting gave him great pleasure. Ron also seemed very happy, but slightly worried. He kept looking around him.

"Harry! The monks are looking for you again. You have to hide. How idiotic to stay in the area! You must get as far away as possible, to another lord's domain."

"I know, I know," Harry calmed him. "Don't worry, I'm careful. I only travel at night, and I got rid of my Benedictine habit, as you see." He motioned to his peasant rags. "But you," he continued, "what are your doing at the leprosarium?"

"Lucius' punishment for having defended you."

"The Prior again…."

" _Abbott_ Lucius. Poor us."

Ron seemed deeply disturbed, more at the prospect of having Lucius as a superior than by his penance in this place. Nevertheless, he smiled faintly. "To add to my misfortune, you'll never guess who he sent with me to do penance."

"I think I can," his friend replied calmly. 

It was at that moment that another monk's silhouette appeared in the doorway to the cottage, as if it had waited for the right moment to intervene. And this was surely the case, Harry thought as his hear skipped a beat. Brother Severus' furious expression didn't soften at the sight of Harry, who bravely lifted his chin.

"Hello, Master. You're probably surprised I'm here."

"Indeed. I thought you'd have the common sense to flee as far as possible."

"I couldn't go far, knowing you were here."

It was purely a euphemism. Harry had waited several days, lying low and being discreet, afraid of being found by the monks, dreading even more not being able to approach Severus.

Wide-eyed, Ron looked from one to the other, trying to understand. Severus turned to him.

"Do you feel capable of handling the cooking without ruining the soup? Get to work!" Ron rushed to put the pot over the fire. Severus gestured imperiously for Harry to enter. "At least don't let yourself been seen here! The Count's soldiers are looking for you."

"They won't be looking for me so close to the abbey," Harry told him with more confidence than he felt. "They must believe that nothing would keep me here."

"If you're beginning to use your head and think, I wonder what the world's coming to."

Harry smiled slightly, reassured by the arrogant tone he was used to. He entered the tiny hut and looked around with curiosity. No furniture, a few cooking utensils, some straw on the dirt floor. Two sacks lay crumpled up in a corner, surely belonging to the two monks doing penance. Through the door which didn't close, Harry saw two more lepers limping toward the fire where Ron was preparing a meal for them all. Harry knew that the charitable work assigned to the monks was essential to these wretched outcasts of society, who shouldn't be shunned, but welcomed with a joyful heart. The leprosarium was more pitiable than frightening; it was destined to reveal the humility of those bound to pass through it.

And Albus had always taken care that the monks never stayed there long enough to become infected by this horror. It remained to be seen if Lucius would have the same scruples. 

"I'm sorry you have to submit to this because of me," Harry murmured contritely.

"Because of you?" Severus mocked, lifting an eyebrow so that Harry blushed.

"Yes, because you wanted to make a diversion."

"Think again, presumptuous boy! What I said to Lucius had been on the tip of my tongue for a long time. It has nothing to do with you."

"Your speech was very powerful!"

"You heard me?"

"I couldn't leave that way, like a coward, without knowing what you were going to do, or what risks you were taking. I took off when I heard Lucius say he was going to think things over and that he'd make allowances for you. I really thought the monks were going to rebel against him, yet…."

Severus' eyes clouded over. He shrugged fatalistically. "I felt a moment of hope, but the risk was too great, the unknown too frightening. The monks are rebels to the laity, but not to the church dignitaries. They'll always prefer Lucius to an abbey without a leader. I can count myself fortunate that my penance is the leprosarium; it's still better than your own fate!"

Harry knew he was joking, and dared to make a face at him. "Evidently," he replied ironically, "the lepers are more pleasant than the exorcist of the Inquisitor. So, Lucius is the new Abbott? He wins, after all he has on his conscience?"

"What conscience? Harry, if you wish to live in the world, you must face the fact that you will meet other men like him. They don't always get what they want, but they spend their lives trying. Tell me, how did you know that Ron and I would be here?" Severus finally asked, his curiosity aroused.

"I didn't know about Ron. Countess Minerva told me what Lucius had sentenced you to. She was the one who gave me different clothes, food, and also a bit of money."

"Harry, you've been incredibly lucky." Severus' voice was curiously solemn. He was scrutinizing Harry seriously, perhaps a bit worried. "Do you know what you're going to do?"

"Oh…I was thinking about walking far away from here, to the south. I'll easily find work, here and there."

"It's true, you're so gifted at agricultural work!"

"…I'd like to see the sea. I've never seen it. I want to see the sea and the sun."

"Outside of that desire, certainly a legitimate one, you don't envision your future more concretely?"

"Thanks to the abbey, I know how to read and write. Not everyone can say as much. I'll find work."

"That's not so badly thought out," Severus conceded.

Harry beamed. His fear of the outside world and his future melted like snow under the sun when he talked to Severus. He felt strong, smart, capable of surviving on his own. He had much more confidence in his abilities than when he'd been living behind the abbey walls. The exquisite knowledge that his life now depended on himself alone, overcame all his anxiety.

Apparently, these new feelings showed in his expression.

His voice changed, Severus said to him, "You seem happier than I've ever known you to be."

"I'd be ungrateful to destiny if I were to complain now!"

These words seemed to soften Severus. His mouth twitched and his face twisted as if he were in the grip of a painful emotion. "I wish for you to always be at peace with yourself. You should be on your way now."

Severus turned his back to him. 

Harry shook his head stubbornly, even though the man couldn't see him. "I won't leave without thanking you. You saved my life. And then…there's a question I want to ask you."

Severus half-turned toward him.

"Would you consider leaving with me?


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Chapter Twelve**

This was the question that he'd turned over incessantly in his mind since his desperate flight from the abbey. He'd rehearsed it to himself again and again, using all his tones of voice—begging, inviting, pathetic, disinterested—wondering which could convince Severus to accept. His proposition was pure madness. Any sane person would refuse him. Harry had put himself in an impossible situation—who could envy his position? What fool would leave the Order if he didn't have to?

Harry waited, painfully aware of each and every beat of his heart; he still saw no reaction from his former Master, who'd narrowed his eyes as if he were trying to read Harry's thoughts.

"I'd like to know precisely what you have in mind, Harry. If you're afraid of the outside world, if you're looking for a someone to attach yourself to like a dead weight, if you're overflowing with foolish gratitude…."

The more he spoke, the more his bitterness increased. If Harry didn't stop him, he'd end up in an angry tirade, and blithely let loose the most unjust of reproaches. The young man was accustomed to his difficult behavior. He understood that Severus wanted neither gratitude, nor indebtedness, nor pity. His easily offended pride and his past suffering made him terribly mistrustful. Far from feeling as if he'd been rejected, Harry felt himself overwhelmed with tenderness.

"I told you I loved you."

"Statements made by those at death's door must not be taken too seriously."

Rash and reckless, Harry came closer to peer into the black eyes glittering suspiciously, and wasn't refused when he placed a hand to the man's cheek. He read incredulity in Severus' face, but also a hesitation, something that looked vaguely like hope.

"I finally said it because I thought I'd never have the chance again. I didn't want to disappear with that secret. That would've meant my feelings had never existed. I love you. I love you."

"Stop. You're like a child enchanted with the sound of his own voice, babbling on in solitude. Consider well, Harry. Now that you're free, you're going to discover wonderful things that you can't imagine. You can get married, and have children."

"No, I know that's not for me."

"How could an immature child like yourself know such a thing?"

"Severus, you haven't forgotten what it's like to be a novice, have you? Forbidden books, secret conversations, dreams. I had all that. I can promise, unlike the others, that I've never dreamed about women. The Mahometans' erotic passages never appealed to me. I know what I want out of my life, and with all of my heart, I want you to be in it."

Harry was now watching Severus anxiously. He'd used all of his arguments, laid all his cards on the table. He didn't know what further could be said to convince him of his sincerity. He lacked experience, as well as audacity. It didn't occur to him, for example, to use his own body to secure his victory.

Perhaps Severus had been touched by his candor. Perhaps he scarcely believed him. Whichever it was, he pulled the young, earnest face toward him and brushed his brown hair to the side.

"I must be mad. You've become dearer to me than all my beliefs."

Severus was surprised by the passion with which Harry threw himself into his arms. Awkwardly, Severus returned the embrace, feeling very self-conscious as he held the boy. The moment lengthened, then Harry regretfully pulled away.

"Ron's here," he whispered.

"Yes, Ron's here. If you knew how much your friend exasperates me sometimes…."

Harry couldn’t help but smile.

***

Severus didn’t want to abandon the lepers; he decided to await Remus’ arrival the next day, and then definitively turn his back on the abbey and the Benedictines.

Harry accepted this plan readily, since he wanted to say his farewells to the infirmary brother who’d been so kind to him. He spent the day helping Severus and Ron care for the sick, who became used to Harry’s presence and so stopped wearing their masks.

But Harry no longer shuddered at their blemished faces and mutilated hands. It seemed to him that he was protected from all of that, just as he’d been protected from Lucius and the long, soul-destroying years in the monastery. Harry radiated happiness.

Ron couldn’t help but notice, and was burning with curiosity, dying to bombard Harry with questions. With Severus there, he didn’t dare. 

Severus and Harry were now staying together, working and preparing supper side by side, talking softly as they did so. Ron felt his suspicions grow, but the idea was so absurd! So insane! He was longing to talk to Harry.

When evening came, the lepers settled down in the huts to sleep, leaving one for the monks. Severus, Ron and Harry sat beside each other on a pile of straw. Ron glanced furtively at his neighbor, opening and closing his mouth without daring to speak. By way of an amused smile, Severus gave Harry permission to tell Ron.

"We’re leaving tomorrow," Harry began, his eyes sparkling.

"Leaving?" Ron repeated. "To where? Back to the abbey?"

"No, going far away and never coming back. Severus and I are leaving the Order."

"But…but…you can't just leave the Order like that! You have to ask for a dispensation from the Holy See. And what will the bishop say? And the Prior? And the Count?"

"Ron," Harry said casually, laughing, "we couldn't care less about all of that! We're going to be free, far away from our pasts. No on will know, and we'll have a new life…together."

"Together?"

That was a great deal of information all at once for Ron. His eyes widened as much as they had in their theology class when he'd first heard the Gospel according to St. John. Severus and Harry turned to him with the same amused expressions, the same joy and hope shining in their eyes. It was this obvious complicity that convinced Ron.

He muttered hesitantly, "Oh well…I guess all I can do is wish you good luck."

"Thanks, Ron."

The redhead became lost in his thoughts, not even paying attention to his two companions' conversation. Just beside him, he saw an example of liberty and choice, and mutual love. A curious sort of love that the Church condemned, that society viewed with horror, but love all the same. But then, Ron was in a position to know that his love for Hermione was also condemned by the world, that a monk and a young woman had less of a right than others to consummate their feelings, to join in the flesh for the sake of pleasure.

Tomorrow, Severus and Harry would make their way out into that hostile world, but they'd be together. Tomorrow, Ron would return to the abbey under the thumb of the new Prior. Lucius would preside over the ceremony where Ron would take his permanent vows. Never again would he leave the abbey. Hermione would end up forgetting him; she'd marry one of her acquaintances and bear his children, then grow old, far away from Ron.

Severus and Harry fell asleep, next to one another, their hands close enough to brush against each other. Ron was still torturing himself, but inevitably, the decision he would make became clearer and clearer.

***

Severus had shed his Benedictine habit. Clothing himself like a lay person, he'd turned the page. He was doing more than changing clothes, though; he was changing his life. Harry knew that the cloister was all Severus had ever known: he was aware of the shock this represented for a man of his age. He was also aware of the sacrifice that Severus was making for him.

The two men walked for hours. They'd already changed counties, so Lucius was far behind them now—the abbey as well. Even the daily church bells didn't threaten them. The Church was omnipresent in this country, so it was with them everywhere they went. But they were no longer a part of it; they could continue to speak to God without saying the seven daily Offices, without being shut away behind walls.

The lush green countryside, as far as the eye could see, was an extraordinary sight for them. The landscape was so different from the limited view that had been their experience for so many years. They stopped near a river, then climbed over the hedges to get to the fresh water and quench their thirst. Harry fell back into the grass with a satisfied sigh. He felt so good, that it was surely a sin.

He thought of Ron again, who'd also decided to leave the abbey. Harry knew that his example had had a great deal to do with it. He hoped Ron would again find Hermione, for whom he was giving up everything, and that she'd consent to follow him in his folly. If she were anything like Ron described her, she wouldn't hesitate. All that Harry hoped was that Ron didn't end up deceived and with his heart broken.

It'd been necessary to tell Remus the entire truth. He'd sat silently for a long while, before wishing them luck. He'd added that he'd pray for them both, but Harry'd sensed that Remus disapproved of their mad escape, at the same time being relieved that Harry had eluded that demon Lucius. In all likelihood, Brother Remus, as loyal as he was, didn't understand how Severus could deny his vows to live in sin with another man. But, he needn't understand it….

Harry sighed as he stretched his arms out above his head. He felt Severus watching him. He opened his eyes to make sure he wasn't mistaken. Severus was staring at him so intensely that it made Harry shiver.

"You're very beautiful, Harry."

Harry smiled, happy to hear it. Everything made him happy on this glorious day, which he hoped to be the anniversary of his future: his first day of freedom.

Severus leant abruptly toward him, took him in his arms and kissed him passionately. Harry opened his eyes and let him invade his mouth, then responded, discovering Severus' in return. His blood was pounding in his veins, and how he loved this new feeling. Quickly he forgot the mouth biting at him in favor of the hands moving insistently over his body, pushing his clothes aside, covering him with caresses. 

Harry half-sat up to work at the layman's clothing that hid Severus. Full of ardor and willingness, he undid the shirt and trousers, letting them fall around Severus' ankles.

Severus was breathing erratically as Harry stroked his body with delight and curiosity, letting his fingers brush over the man's rigid cock. Severus made a hoarse sound, one that Harry wanted to hear again. Shyly, but not overly so, he began to stroke it, learning it, getting used to it. When Severus seemed on the verge of exploding, he impatiently pushed Harry's hands away; he, too, wanted to explore his lover's body. Harry wanted to protest, but Severus was too strong; he was rolled over on the ground, and moaned as he submitted himself to the delicious torture that Severus inflicted.

Harry threw back his head, abandoning himself to the sheer intensity of physical pleasure. Severus licked his salty skin, and trembled, overcome by the youthful perfection of his lover.

Severus murmured breathlessly, "I want you. I have for a long time."

Harry moaned in reply, a sound almost like a sob. His body was taut with pleasure and desire and the urgent need to relieve this unbearable tension he felt. Severus moved to lie on top of him, taking great care to keep his weight on his forearms, then pressed his groin against Harry's. Their hips ground together, rubbing each other. Harry and Severus moved as one, groaning without holding back, as ecstasy overtook them.

Afterwards, they lay in each other's arms, quietly savoring the passion they'd shared, noticing only the river's murmur and the beating of their hearts.

Later, when they were once again presentable, Severus threw a worried glance at his young companion. "I was wondering…."

"Yes, Severus?"

"I was wondering if I was right to drag you away…." He didn't finish; he simply made a broad gesture between the two of them and toward the countryside. Harry understood perfectly.

"You're not the one who dragged me away. It was more the circumstances, Lucius and myself. I don't regret a thing."

"Now you don't, but later?"

"Later will be just like today," Harry said with an unshakeable confidence. "I'm happy because I've found my place. I’m here where God wants me."

Severus seemed about to say something sarcastically, but didn't. He only replied, "Myself as well."

Then he leant toward Harry for another kiss full of passion. Harry closed his eyes and felt suddenly dizzy. He lurched, wanting to hold onto Severus to keep from falling, but his arms closed on empty air. He fell, and his fall seemed endless.

***

"Harry? Harry, can you hear me?"

Harry, his tongue furred, feeling completely incapable of answering, simply nodded. He opened his eyes with difficulty. Despite the dim light, they burned, so he closed them again with a sorrowful sigh.

"Harry?"

"Leave me alone, Ron."

He was sure it was Ron. He recognized his voice perfectly, so he forced himself to look at him. He was surprised by his appearance, though. He blinked several times, but the picture didn't change. Ron had rather long hair to the nape of his neck, and was wearing garishly colored clothing, along with a lion on the coat of arms of his habit. Something wasn't right….

"You're awake! I’m going to get Madam Pomfrey!"

"Pomfrey?"

Harry sat up, looking around him. He was full of confusion. He recognized the place, though; the gentle face leaning in over him was familiar as well, but seemed from far away, as if lost in an old childhood memory.

"Harry…. Finally awake. How do you feel?"

"Not too bad."

Madam Pomfrey peered into Harry's eyes, then placed a cool hand on his forehead. The boy looked at her with an astonished expression. He remembered her and the infirmary dormitory. But he also remembered other things, other places full of stones and fire, that seemed to come from far off. Images flashed before his eyes, one after the other, muddled together—Uncle Vernon, a church, Hagrid, the Host as it came toward his mouth, Voldemort's red eyes in the cemetery, a gathering of monks seated in the chapter, looking at him in terror because he might have the devil inside him.

Harry jumped, startled. Madam Pomfrey bent over him, murmuring half-aloud, "More nightmares?"

Harry passed a hand in front of his eyes. It seemed that the nightmare was indeed still there, so real, so vivid that it was mixed with reality.

"Yes."

"You Know Who?"

No, he didn't really know. Perhaps Father Albus would know. My God, it was true that he was dead, that he couldn’t him anymore. 

But no! Albus Dumbledore was alive!

"I have a headache."

The mediwitch let out a long irritated sigh. "That doesn't surprise me, coming from Divination. I continually tell Sybill that those fumes are harmful. You fainted in her class and no one could revive you."

Harry felt his heart begin to beat faster. He suddenly remembered it all, as if the dense curtain over his memories had just been pushed aside. The nonsense about past lives…and then, he'd lived something, in another place, in another time, that he was completely unable to pinpoint…and the reel of images was abruptly interrupted, but not without leaving him one last memory that burned him more than any of the others.

How long had he stayed in that other life? How much time had that other Harry, the little pathetic monk, stolen from him?

He didn't dare ask the question. He'd find out later, when he'd catch a glimpse of a calendar. Perhaps even just a simple hour had gone by? Another time, different values, a different sense of time passing….

Madam Pomfrey agreed to let him leave for supper in the Great Hall. Ron was happy about that—staying at his friend's side, he was afraid he'd miss supper. Harry was happy to be able to leave as well. He was entirely numb, in body and spirit, as if he'd taken a long trip. In a way, that was exactly what he'd done.

As they all walked along the corridors, Harry thought again of the other Harry. Had it just been a dream, or was it really a past life? If it had been, what had become of his other self? He truly suspected that the context of the era didn't lend itself to a fairy tale ending. They got married and had lots of children wouldn't have been for Harry and Severus.

Severus…oh my God….

Professor Snape was also walking in the corridor, straight ahead, as if he were coming to meet him. Harry stopped, shaking from head to toe. Surprised, Ron bumped into Harry.

Severus Snape was walking toward him. Harry watched as if he were seeing him for the very first time: his large forehead, furrowed in serious thought; the lines at the corners of his mouth aging him…the slender white hands.

Ron nudged him with an elbow. Harry was barely aware of it. He saw his professor, and he saw again the man who'd saved him, who'd confessed his love for him, who'd taught him pleasure.

Snape shot him a dark look along his way, seeming mildly surprised. A glimmer of interest sparked in his eyes, then was gone just as quickly. He passed Harry without stopping.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment. He had to remember that he was at Hogwarts, that Severus was only his professor, that they were adversaries, nothing more.

So, he continued on to the dining hall. He was retuning to the normal course of his life, to the things that concerned him: History of Magic homework, the next date with Cho, and oh yes, not to be forgotten—Voldemort!

On that cynical thought, he focused his mind and girded himself with good resolutions. He had to forget all about his so-called former lives, and hope that Trelawney would find herself a new obsession that was less destructive. He had to face Snape in his next class as if it were nothing. He'd be the rebellious and mediocre student; Snape would be the unfair and despised professor. If Harry started to miss his affection and protectiveness, he'd go mad….

He walled off his passionate memories, deep in his heart, from whence they'd never again make an appearance.

FIN

A/N: There you have it—the end of the story. Thanks for reading through to the end, for having entered my strange world and accepted it. I hope you didn't find the ending too disappointing.


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